“No,” he answered sharply.
A conviction that he ought to go without delay assailed him with irritating persistence. With the moment for decision, the thought of leaving Benfontein became less easy; he did not want to go. He believed that she was aware of his reluctance, that in a measure she shared it. He felt her will joining with his to oppose his decision.
“Then at least we can have one other ride together,” she said softly.
“Yes.” He flicked at the flies that were worrying the horse, and did not look at her. “We will have one last ride together—since you are good enough to propose it.”
“That is my way of showing I am sorry for being disagreeable,” Honor observed.
Which remark, calling for contradiction, making too a special claim upon his gratitude, moved him to express warm appreciation of her consistent kindness, and his deep regret at the thought of departure. He did not intend to have any misunderstandings on that head. He wanted to make it quite clear that it was in relation to herself the approaching separation affected him so gravely. He was busy with his explanation, and getting, as he was aware, somewhat deeply involved in an analysis of emotions that threatened, while leading nowhere in particular, to leave him presently stranded high and dry above the watermark of conventional intercourse, when Honor interrupted him, snapping effectually the chain of his ideas.
“Visitors!” she cried.
The displeased ring in her voice, the vexed surprise of her expression, were eloquent of her resentment at this unlooked-for event. They were nearing the homestead. Matheson, intent upon his companion to the exclusion of everything, failed, until roused by her exclamation to a closer observation, to see the low buggy standing in the shade of the big aloes. A Kaffir stood by the horses’ heads. He presently led the animals towards the stable, and the buggy, bumping into the open, showed a heavy list on the driving side which witnessed to the girth of the owner beneath whose weight the springs had all but collapsed. This familiar sight drove the vexation out of Honor’s eyes. She smiled suddenly.
“It’s Oom Koos,” she said—“Oom Koos Marais. That’s all right. I feared it might be a stranger.”
On the whole, Matheson decided on reflection, the presence of the newcomer would facilitate rather than hinder his departure.