"Will a duck swim?" inquired Mrs. du Preez, genially. "You just try us, Miss Harding. And oh! if you want to say good-by to Paul, I know where he 's gone. He 'll be down under the dam, makin' mud pies."
"Not really?"
"You just step down and see; it won't take you a moment. He makes things, y'know; he made a sort of statue of me once. 'If that 's like me,' I told him, 'it 's lucky I 'm off the stage.' And what d 'you think he had the cheek to answer me? 'Mother,' he says, 'when you forget what you look like, you look like this.'"
"I think I will just say good-by to Paul," said Margaret, glancing at Mrs. Jakes.
"Come on after me, then," answered the doctor's wife. "I really must fly."
"Pigs might fly," suggested Mrs. du Preez, enigmatically.
The Boer did not go to the door with them; he waited where he stood while Mrs. du Preez, her voice waxing through the leave-takings to a shrill climax of farewell, accompanied them to her borders. When she returned to the little room, he was still standing in his place, returning "Boy Bailey's" glazed stare with gloomy intensity.
His wife looked curiously at him as she moved to the table and began to put the scattered tea-cups together on the tray.
"She 's a nice girl, Christian," she said, as she gathered them up.
He did not answer, though he heard. She went on with her work till the tray was ready to be carried forth, glancing at his brooding face under her eyebrows.