“Who could it be but me?” asked Gregory, seating himself on a stone at her feet.
“Do you suppose you are the only man who would find anything to attract him to this kopje?”
“Oh, no,” said Gregory.
He was not going to argue that point with her, nor any other; but no old Boer was likely to take the trouble of climbing the kopje, and who else was there?
She continued the study of her book.
“Miss Lyndall,” he said at last, “I don’t know why it is you never talk to me.”
“We had a long conversation yesterday,” she said without looking up.
“Yes; but you ask me questions about sheep and oxen. I don’t call that talking. You used to talk to Waldo, now,” he said, in an aggrieved tone of voice. “I’ve heard you when I came in, and then you’ve just left off. You treated me like that from the first day; and you couldn’t tell from just looking at me that I couldn’t talk about the things you like. I’m sure I know as much about such things as Waldo does,” said Gregory, in exceeding bitterness of spirit.
“I do not know which things you refer to. If you will enlighten me I am quite prepared to speak of them,” she said, reading as she spoke.
“Oh, you never used to ask Waldo like that,” said Gregory, in a more sorely aggrieved tone than ever. “You used just to begin.”