"He goes to shoot big game. He is a horrid, bloodthirsty creature."
Little by little, however, Lady Emily had allowed herself to be persuaded that Central Africa was not so hideous a region as she had supposed. She was told that there were bits of country like Suffolk, a home-like Arcadia on the shores of Nyassa which would remind her of her own farm.
"Then why not make that district your head-quarters?" she argued, appealing to Patrington.
"We shall have no head-quarters. We shall wander from one interesting spot to another. We shall settle down only in the Masika season, when travelling is out of the question—not so much because it couldn't be done as because the blackies won't do it. They are uncommonly careful of themselves; won't budge in the rains, won't take a canoe on the lake, if there's a bit of a swell on."
"I am glad of that," sighed Lady Emily, with an air of relief; "I am very glad the negroes are prudent and careful."
"A deuced deal too prudent, my dear Lady Emily."
The men were sitting at a table looking at a map, one of Patrington's rough sketch maps, and splotched with a blunt quill pen. He was showing Allan where more scientific map-makers had gone wrong.
"Here's the Lualaba, you see, and here's the little wood where we camped—I seldom use a tent if I can help it, but there wasn't a village within ten miles of that spot."
The door was opened and a servant announced—
"Mr. Wornock."