“Thanks,” Matheson answered. “I call it excellent fare. For myself I should be satisfied with the porridge and that fine water melon to finish with.”
“Yes!” Nel regarded the huge green fruit that furnished the centre of the table. “We grow good melons—a very pleasant and refreshing fruit. It makes a nice confit, too. My sister-in-law is very clever in that way. It is she who keeps me supplied with meiboss, and other agreeable preserves.”
He went into a dissertation on the unsurpassed excellence of Dutch housewifery, and extolled the Dutchwoman’s knowledge in all branches of cookery, and the special preparation of the produce of the country. Matheson was not particularly interested in the subject; but the speaker and his quaint abode and curious mode of living interested him enormously. He had imagined that all Dutchmen were phlegmatic; slow of speech, slow of thought, heavy in their humour, and violent in temper. This Dutchman was altogether different from any type he had met. Instinctively he liked him. He had a feeling that Nel was predisposed towards reciprocating this liking; but the man was cautious. He talked continuously; and while he talked he was quite plainly taking stock of his visitor—thinking him out. He could not place the Englishman, and was frankly puzzled. The Englishman was agreeable, and seemed honest; but an honest man does not undertake a dishonourable mission.
“I expected to see you at the meeting last night,” he said presently.
He spoke with some abruptness, and fumbled in his pocket for his knife, which he opened deliberately, keeping his gaze fixed on Matheson’s face the while.
“It is the first I have heard of any meeting,” Matheson replied. “I suppose Mr Krige attended?”
“Yes. You think it wise to keep away, eh?”
Matheson stared hard at the speaker. The shrewd eyes withdrew their gaze and fixed themselves on the dried buckflesh which was being finely sliced with the sharp blade of the clasp knife. Matheson felt incensed.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said. “I wasn’t invited to attend. Why should it seem to you wise that I should keep away?”
Nel went on quietly dicing the biltong.