"What then?" She looked at him for a moment, still feeling curiously unsure of her ground. "Well, we'd weather it somehow, partner," she said, and held out her hand to him with a little quivering smile.
He made no movement to take her hand. Perhaps he had already heard what a few seconds later reached her own ears,—the sound of Guy's feet upon the stoep outside the window. But during those seconds his eyes dwelt upon her, holding her own with a fixed intentness that somehow made her feel cold. It was an unspeakable relief to her when he turned them from her, as it were setting her free.
Guy came in with something of his old free swing, and closed the window behind him. "Better to stew than to eat sand," he remarked. "I've just heard from one of the Kaffirs that Piet Vreiboom's land is on fire."
"What?" said Burke sharply.
"It's all right at present," said Guy. "We can bear it with equanimity. The wind is the other way."
"The wind may change," said Burke.
"That wouldn't be like your luck," remarked Guy, as he seated himself.
They partook of the meal almost in silence. To Sylvia the very air was laden with foreboding. Everything they ate was finely powered with sand, but she alone was apparently aware of the fact. The heat inside the bungalow was intense. Outside a fierce wind had begun to blow, and the sky was dark.
At the end of a very few minutes Burke arose. Guy sprang instantly to his feet.
"Are you off? I'm coming!"