He did not look up, and met her attempt at a pleasant greeting with an inarticulate grunt. When she turned to enter the baobab, she found the opening littered with bamboos and green creepers and pieces of large branches with charred ends. On either side, midway through the entrance, a vertical row of holes had been sunk through the bark of the tree into the soft wood.
“What is this?” she asked. “Are you planning a porch?”
“Maybe,” he replied.
“But why should you make the holes so far in? I know so little about these matters, but I should have fancied the holes would come on the front of the tree.”
“You’ll see in a day or two.”
“How did you make the holes? They look black, as though–”
“Burnt ’em, of course–hot stones.”
“That was so clever of you!”
He made no response.
Supper was eaten in silence. Even Winthrope’s presence would have been a relief to the girl; yet she could not go to waken him, or even suggest that her companion do so. Blake sat throughout the meal sullen and stolid, and carefully avoided meeting her gaze. Before they had finished, twilight had come and gone, and night was upon them. Yet she lingered for a last attempt.