She broke off abruptly, and pulled him towards a seat on the stoep and sat down beside him.
“Tell me, who is this man? Why should a Dutchman influence you so strongly? I tried from the first to persuade you to join the Union Forces. I’m jealous of this Dutchman.”
He laughed and possessed himself or her hand and pressed it warmly.
“He’s a Boer I met up country—one of the finest men I know. He has the welfare of South Africa at heart—like Botha and Smuts.”
“Oh! a loyal Boer,” she said.
Matheson made a gesture of impatience.
“That term is applied so differently,” he said. “He is one of the men who are on our side, if you mean that.”
“Well, but that’s being loyal, isn’t it?” she said.
“Loyal to one’s conception of right—yes. I imagine one needs to be Dutch to see the thing clearly. He is not a son of Empire; he’s a South African, heart and soul. His brother is on the other side.”
“Ah!” she said. “A rebel. That’s painful for him.”