Paul was listening with that profound attention he seemed to give to all things.
"I don't feel it 's as far as all that," said Margaret. "But then, I was there two months ago. Probably that makes a difference."
She was only now beginning to realize the strangeness of the encounter, and as she talked her faculties, taken by ambush and startled from their functions, regained their alertness. She watched him composedly as he replied.
"Yes," he said. "And there are other differences, too. Since I left London I have not slept under a roof."
While he spoke he did not cease to finger the clay; as he turned it here and there, Margaret was able to see it was the head of a negro that he was shaping and the work was already well forward. It was, indeed, the same head whose unexpected scowl had astonished Paul; and as he moved it about, the still gloomy face of clay seemed to glance backward and forward as though it heard him and doubted.
"But why not?" demanded Margaret.
He seemed to hesitate before answering, and meanwhile his hands were busy and deft.
"Why not?" she repeated. "Seven months! I don't understand. Why have n't you slept under a roof all that time?"
"Well!" He smiled as he spoke at last. "You see—I don't speak Kafir. That's where the trouble is. When first I came up here, I went across to the southern districts, where Kafirs are pretty numerous. My idea was to live among them, in order to—well, to carry out an idea of mine."
He paused. "They didn't know what to make of you?" suggested Margaret.