"Yes, he will." His voice held grim confidence, and somehow it sounded merciless also to her ears. "He'll turn up again some day. He always does. I'm about the only man in South Africa who wouldn't kick him out within six months. He knows that. That's why he'll come back."
"You are—good to him," said Sylvia, her voice very low.
"No, I'm not; not specially. He knows what I think of him anyhow."
Burke spoke slowly. "I've done what I could for him, but he's one
of my failures. You've got to grasp the fact that he's a rotter.
Have you grasped that yet?"
"I'm beginning to," Sylvia said, under her breath.
"Then you can't—possibly—many him," said Burke.
She lowered her eyes before the keenness of his look. She wished the light in the east were not growing so rapidly.
"The question is, What am I going to do?" she said.
Burke was silent for a moment. Then with a slight gesture that might have denoted embarrassment he said, "You don't want to stay here, I suppose?"
She looked up again quickly. "Here—on this farm, do you mean?"
"Yes." He spoke brusquely, but there was a certain eagerness in his attitude as he leaned towards her.