“Miss Darcy,” said the doctor, laughingly, “you should fill a sketch-book with all these strange characters you see. Your powers of observation are so developed that you perceive things which others would pass blindly over.”
“I have not the slightest talent for sketching. These scenes will have to remain imprinted on the photographic tablet of my memory.”
“I trust your housekeeper suits you?”
“Margaret is all one could ask for, and such an honest body. I know she doesn’t ‘pretty much’!”
“One could not truthfully say that she is handsome! You are perfectly safe while she is your body-guard. Has she raised that moustache since you met her?”
Kate laughed merrily, for Margaret always reminded her of an old mouser. It seemed as if she never could have been young, and her clothes had a home-made-in-a-hurry sort of look about them. But Margaret filled her niche in the world.
“Let us take a drive before dinner,” said Kate, “and let me show you through this beautiful little town of ours, which we think compares favourably with those havens of rest around Cape Town. You must have seen at the hotel the Englishmen, who are enjoying poor health, and losing their old dreaded belief in consumption.”
“I did, and found them agreeable company. You have pleasant neighbours?”
“I don’t know. I should be sorry to find that I have not, so I do not try to gratify any curiosity I may have on the subject.”
They had reached the house, and Kate, having given orders for the horses to be harnessed to the Victoria, excused herself for a few moments. When she returned she wore a plain cream-coloured cashmere dress. A wide-brimmed Leghorn hat, with drooping feathers, sat gracefully on her head.