"Why should I mind?" said Burke. "Come and sit on the stoep! My neighbour, Piet Vreiboom, is there, but he is just going."
He spoke the last words with great distinctness, and it occurred to her that he meant them to be overheard.
She hung back. "Oh, I don't think I will. I can't talk Dutch.
Really I would rather——"
"He understands a little English," said Burke. "But don't be surprised at anything he says! He isn't very perfect."
He stood against the wall for her to pass him, and she did so with a feeling that she had no choice. Very reluctantly she moved out on to the wooden stoep, and turned towards the visitor. The orange of the sunset was behind her, turning her hair to living gold. It fell full upon the face of the man before her, and she was conscious of a powerful sense of repugnance. Low-browed, wide-nosed, and prominent of jaw, with close-set eyes of monkeyish craft, such was the countenance of Piet Vreiboom. He sat and stared at her, his hat on his head, his pipe in his mouth.
"How do you do, Mrs. Ranger?" he said.
Sylvia checked her advance, but in a moment Burke Ranger's hand closed, upon her elbow, quietly impelling her forward.
"Mr. Vreiboom saw you with me at Ritzen yesterday," he said, and she suddenly remembered the knot of Boer farmers at the hotel-door and the staring eyes that had abashed her.
She glanced up at Burke, but his face was quite emotionless. Only something about him—an indefinable something—held her back from correcting the mistake that Vreiboom had made. She looked at the seated Boer with a dignity wholly unconscious. "How do you do?" she said coolly.
He stretched out a hand to her. His smile was familiar. "I hope you like the farm, Mrs. Ranger," he said.