Then came dinner, and with it in quiet, unsuspected guise the news that would presently change their lives. Henry Pym, a small, dark man, with the keen eyes and quiet manner that so often go with success, told them that because there would be practically no London season at all that year he had decided to go back to Africa, and he would take a country house for them anywhere they liked and leave them there for the summer with Aunt Emily.
Aunt Emily nodded her head with an approving air. A quiet country house instead of a season's racketing was quite to her taste, and she felt dear Henry, as ever, was showing the marked common sense for which she humbly worshipped him afar off. Meryl looked at her father inquiringly and with a thoughtful air. Diana remarked, rather disgustedly, "O, uncle, what rot! Why should we be condemned to some dull little hole of an English village, just because there is to be no London season?"
"My dear Diana," remonstrated the lady who was supposed to fill the post of mother and chaperon to both girls, and was therefore in duty bound to express disapproval of Diana's English, "you surely do not imagine your uncle admires that unladylike mode of speech!"
"But he understands it," said the incorrigible, "and that is far more important."
There was a decided gleam in the millionaire's eyes as he inquired, "And what do you want to do instead, Di?"
"Oh, yacht, or travel, or go in an aeroplane, or anything. I simply can't sit down in an English village until further notice."
Then Meryl spoke:
"Why can't we go back with you to South Africa, father?"
"Because I'm going to take a trip north. I'm going up to Rhodesia about some mining claims."
"And couldn't we go there with you?"