"Sometimes there is grass—a little—not much, and milk bushes and prickly pear," he told her. "But it is hard ground, all of it. It is very peaceful, though."
She nodded comprehendingly, and he found a stimulant in her quiet interest. He had not Paul's tense absorption in the harvest of the eye, but he would have been no Boer had the vacant miles not exercised a power over him.
"You 're never—discontented with it?" asked Margaret. "I mean, you find it enough for you, without wanting towns and all that?"
He shook his head, hesitating. "I do not know towns," he answered. "No, I don't want towns. But—every day the same sights, and the sun and the silence—"
"Yes?" she asked.
He was little used to confessing himself and his shyness was an obstacle to clear speech. Besides, the matter in his mind was not clear to himself; he was aware of it as a color to his thoughts rather than as a fact to be stated.
"It makes you guess at things," he said at last. "You guess, but you don't ever know."
"What things?" asked Margaret.
"A lot of things," he answered. "God, and the devil, and all that. It's always there, you see, and you must think."
A rattle in the passage and a start from Mrs. du Preez heralded tea, borne in upon a reverberating iron tray by a timid and clumsy Kafir maid, who set her burden insecurely upon the table and fled in panic. Christian du Preez ceased to speak as if upon a signal and Mrs. du Preez entered the arena hospitably.