“That isn’t necessary,” he answered quickly. “I know as much as suffices. Nothing could alter my regard for yourself anyway. I hope you believe that?”
“You are very generous,” she answered, in so low and grateful a voice that he felt he wanted to comfort her in some more practical way than by mere words. Instead he said quietly:
“I think you are a brave, dear little soul. Your friendship is an immense help to me. It’s the best thing that has happened to me. I’ve been back in Cape Town three months now, and I’ve come out here alone and thought about our jolly walks and missed you more than I can say. It was good to find you unexpectedly like that to-day.”
Brenda glanced at him swiftly.
“You came into the café last week,” she said, “and stood close to me. I could have touched you.”
“Really?” he exclaimed in amaze. “Why in the name of mystery didn’t you speak to me?”
“I wasn’t sure you would be pleased. I thought—perhaps you didn’t wish to see me.”
“Oh Lord!” he cried, and laughed. “You—Puritan, you! As though I could be anything but pleased to see you anywhere. I don’t know how I came not to see you... But I’m eyes right generally with all those girls around. If you hadn’t returned my change—”
“Your tip,” she corrected.
“My tip, then.” He laughed again light-heartedly.—“I doubt I’d have noticed you at all. What made you do it?”