"But—how did you come across Kamis?" asked Margaret.
"Oh, it 's a long story. I was clearin' out of here—doing a bolt, you know, an' I got into trouble with a feller that was with me. It was a feller named Bailey that was stoppin' here," explained Mrs. du Preez, who had not heard the whole history of Margaret's exposure. "He was after a bit of money I 'd got with me, and he was startin' in to kick me when up jumps that nigger and down goes Bailey. See?"
Margaret saw only vaguely, but she nodded.
"That 's Bailey," said Mrs. du Preez, drawing her attention to the Boy's photograph. "Christian warned me against smashing it when I wanted to. He 's got notions, Christian has. 'Leave it alone,' he says; 'we 're not afraid of it.' So of course I had to; but I 'd be more 'n a bit thankful if it was gone. I can't take any pleasure in the room with it there."
"I could help you in that, perhaps," suggested Margaret. "You 've helped me. It was sweet of you to tell me what you did, the friendliest thing I ever knew."
"I 'd rather you did n't speak about it to Christian," objected Mrs. du Preez.
"I did n't mean to," Margaret assured her, rising.
She crossed to the narrow mantel as though to look more particularly at Boy Bailey's features. She lifted the plush frame from its place.
"There are people who would call this face handsome," she remarked.
"Heaps," agreed Mrs. du Preez. "In his best days, he 'd got a style—Lord! Miss Harding."