“You do,” she asserted.
“As luck has it... but there are plenty of quite respectable persons in England who don’t,” he informed her. “Getting on and off busses in motion is a more useful accomplishment with us. To each country its own customs! Do we start now?”
“Yes; we will walk across to the stables.” She flashed a smile at him. “I am afraid we will have to saddle our own horses; there won’t be any one about so early as this.”
The business of getting the horses out took time. The sun was above the horizon when Matheson led them into the open, followed by Honor, who had done her share of the work. He held his hand for her, and assisted her to the saddle. Then he mounted himself. Honor sat quietly, with her face turned, and watched the performance. She had not expected him to be clumsy; his size and weight notwithstanding, he conveyed the impression that whatever he did he would do well. At least, she reflected, when, having gained the saddle, he brought his horse abreast of hers, his seat was good.
“Which direction do we take?” he asked.
She lifted a hand and pointed with her whip to some flat-topped hills far away, but standing out in the clear dry atmosphere, sharply defined against the blue cloudless sky like hills seen through a powerful glass.
“We will ride to the south,” she said, “towards the tafel-kopjes yonder.”
He looked down into her eyes.
“And there we shall find the beauty and the charm you promised?”
Honor returned his gaze with grave composure.