Sylvia looked up at him in momentary confusion. Then she laughed.
"We picked each other up at Ritzen," she said.
"Ritzen!" he echoed in amazement, "What on earth took you there?" Then hastily, "I say, I beg your pardon. You must forgive my impertinence. But you look so awfully like a duchess in your own right, I couldn't help being surprised."
"Well, have a drink!" said Sylvia lightly. "I'm not a duchess in my own right or anything else, except Burke's wife. We're running this farm together on the partner system. I'm junior partner of course. Burke tells me what to do, and I do it."
"You'll soon lose your complexion if you go out riding in this heat and dust," said Mrs. Merston.
"Oh, I hope not," Sylvia laughed again. "If I do, I daresay I shan't miss it much. It's rather fun to feel that sort of thing doesn't matter. Ah, here is Burke coming now!" She glanced up at the thudding of his horse's hoofs.
Merston went out again into the blinding sunlight to greet his host, and Sylvia turned to the thin, pinched woman beside her.
"I expect you would like to come inside and take off your hat and wash. It is hot, isn't it? Shall we go in and get respectable?"
She spoke with that winning friendliness of hers that few could resist. Mrs. Merston's lined face softened almost in spite of itself. She got up. But she could not refrain from flinging another acid remark as she did so.
"I really think if Englishmen must live in South Africa, they ought to be content with Boer wives."