"I wonder whether you ever met my brother, Richard Selbourne, he was out with the Yeomanry during the war, and settled down afterwards on a farm in the O.R.C. I've been staying with him and my sister-in-law."
"Place called Duikerpoort?"
"Yes."
"I have, then; my regiment camped on his ground last manoeuvres, and your brother dined with us, I remember. Where were you?"
"At home, with Polly, my sister-in-law. We watched you ride away. Oh, look!" with sudden delight in her eyes as they fell on a small fat child slowly toddling about the deck some distance away, "quick, fetch her and bring her here; she'll be gone if you don't hurry."
Graeme reluctantly rose and walked over to where the child was playing. Unceremoniously picking her up, he returned to Stara, the little girl faintly whimpering in his arms.
"The idea of holding a child like that," said Stara indignantly, snatching his burden from him; "no wonder the poor mite was beginning to cry. Oh, you darling," bending rapturously over the baby, who was now smiling up at her, her hands playing with Stara's coral chain, "how perfectly sweet you are, and how I wish you were mine. Look at her little feet and legs, Colonel Graeme; oh, you're not interested a bit."
"I confess I'm not; babies have no attraction for me."
"Then you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Every man ought to love children. Haven't you any of your own?"
"No," snapped Graeme, and walked sulkily away down the deck, stopping at the far end to look back. Stara was still holding the child in her arms and talking baby talk to it, obviously oblivious of his existence.