"Who told you?..." he asked at last.
"Mr. Henry Delcombe, the scientist, who was a great friend of your father's."
Another silence. At last—
"Is he in Rhodesia now?"
"He is here, in Salisbury. He will not tell anyone else," she added. "He told me because ... because ... he perceived that Billy and I cared for you very much, and for your happiness." She moved a little nearer to him, and continued gently, "I felt almost as if I could break my heart with sympathy for you,—and that you should have borne such memories all these years, alone."
"I have put them behind me," he said, speaking almost harshly. "The past is dead. What does it matter who and what I was before?... To-day I am a Rhodesian, and my work is here. I shall remain here now until I die."
"You may not be able to do that," and her voice had suddenly a ring in it that seemed to arrest him.
"Why may I not?"
"Because presently—very soon perhaps—you will have to answer to a call that requires you in England."
He half turned to her, waiting silently and unmoved, with grave eyes fixed on the distance.