She broke in. "I got no time to talk. I must take this water inside. Good-night!"
His choler rose. "A chap may do what he will for you, and you can't even throw him a word!"
Her languid expression changed; the dark blue eyes flashed wide awake in the twilight.
"I didn't understand you wanted to be paid for carrying the pail!"
"Oh, damn you!" cried Bert, hurt beyond endurance; and he flung away in rage that was not far from tears.
It seemed that the moment he was gone, the girl forgot him utterly. She turned away and went inside the sitkamer without a backward glance.
The sitkamer was full of her father's half-Boer children: two great boys of eight and nine years old, and three or four younger fry. They were rolling about on the floor, playing, fighting and cuffing. Millie took no more notice of them than if they had been mice or black-beetles. She filled the kettle from her pail, and set it to boil, and then, going to a cupboard, got a fresh egg, which she proceeded to whisk up in a tumbler, with delicate care.
Tante Wilma rolled into the room, sat down by the stove, took the coffee-pot off the rack, and poured herself out a cupful, which she proceeded liberally to "lace" with something stronger. She sat sipping it, looking furtively at her step-daughter as she moved, her small face grimly set, noiselessly to and fro. It is very rarely indeed that a Boer woman takes to drink. When she does, she becomes a creature to be avoided.
When her arrangements were complete, Millie took the tray and went out of the room, followed by malevolent glances.
"White rat!" growled Xante Wilma, in the Taal.