Kathryn Blair - Mayenga Farm

MAYENGA FARMBy KATHRYN BLAIR

Rennie Gaynor found Kent Bradfield’s criticisms of the wayshe and her father ran their farm quite intolerable. It wastrue that they were rather poor and unused to South Africa,but Kent’s assurance and good looks annoyed her.

It was not until Rennie’s sophisticated friend Jackie cameto stay with the Gaynors and showed a distinct interest inKent, that Rennie herself found that her feelings for Kentwere something deeper than anger.

In “Mayenga Farm” Kathryn Blair describes how these twostubborn people, Rennie and Kent, came to realize thatthey needed each other.

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OTHER

Harlequin Romances

by KATHRYN BLAIR

920—THE MAN AT MULERA

941—MAYENGA FARM

954—DOCTOR WESTLAND(Originaiiy

published under the title: "The Affair in Tangier")

972—BARBARY MOON 988—THE PRIMROSE BRIDE101 2—NO OTHER HAVEN 1 038—BATTLE OF LOVE1059—THE TULIP TREE 1083— DEAREST ENEMY1107—THEY MET IN ZANZIBAR 1 148—FLOWERINGWILDERNESS

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MAYENGA FARM

by

KATHYRN BLAIR

HARLEQUIN BOOKS

Originally published by Mills &Boon Limited, 50 GraftonWay, Fitzroy Square, London, England

Harlequin edition published August, 1965

Reprinted 1971 Reprinted 1972 Reprinted 1974

AS the characters in this book have no existence outsidethe imagination of the Author, and have no relationwhatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names.They are not even distantly inspired by any individual knownor unknown to the Author, and all the incidents are pureinvention

RENNIE stood back to admire the bookshelves, three tiersof them in two long sections, one flanking each side of thefalse brick fireplace.

"They fit perfectly," she exclaimed. "I can't wait to get yourbooks arranged and to buy some of those pieces of DutchGouda pottery to go on top. Perhaps we’d better do withoutthe pottery till after the harvest, though," she added a trifleanxiously. "It's rather expensive. But you’ve made amarvellous job of the shelves. I do like the way they curvedown at the ends in two perfect shoulders."

Her father smiled. "A labor of love, my dear, for both of us.

The idea was yours and I confess that if I must have anoutdoor hobby, a simple bit of carpentering is more in myline than racing between the maize fields on horseback. I'mnot saying, mind you, that horse-riding isn’t excellentexercise for one of your age, but I take my pleasure moresedately." Adrian broke off, to gain further silent satisfactionfrom his craftsmanship. "You shall have at least two piecesof Gouda, Rennie, and not of a piffling size, either. I insist."

"Just two." She was reluctant to relinquish the picture whichhad taken shape in her mind. "We’ll leave the toby jugs onthe mantelpiece but eliminate that cubist-looking lamb."Critically, she surveyed the expanse of polished floor. "If wecould afford one really large Mirzapur rug, these two smallones could go into your bedroom, one each side of thebed."

"My bedroom is entirely comfortable as it is. His glanceroved the lounge. "In my opinion we’ve done very well forone year. We started with nothing, remember." He pausedand once more eyed the empty bookshelves. "By the way,my dear, isn’t it time we woke up the bookseller inGravenburg? My books may already have arrived."

"I’m going to the store. If you like, I’ll drive on into town andmake enquiries."

"Thank you, Rennie. I’d be glad if you would."

His smile pleasant and a little withdrawn, Adrian Gaynor puton his pipe, set a match to it and wandered back to theworkshop to pack away his tools. Though he fullyappreciated the necessity for open-air interests, he wouldnot be sorry to get back to his study of South Africanliterature.

As her eyes followed him, Rennie’s red mouth curvedaffectionately. Adrian was no plantation boss, but she didwish that in spite of lack of capital and enterprise, theymight reap an abundant harvest just this once. He really diddeserve it, and if such a miracle were to happen he couldbuy all the books he coveted, and she might herself rise tosomething modern in the way of a suit or cocktail frock. Notthat she had much use for either in this subtropical corner ofthe Northern Transvaal, but the possession of a slickgarment or two did give one’s ego a fillip.

This morning Rennie allowed herself a rare moment'sreflection upon what might-have-been . . . what was untileighteen months ago, when her mother had died. A villa inSt. John’s Wood, her father librarian in an adjacent Londonsuburb and she one of his assistants and wonderfully happyin the work. Then tragedy in its most poignant form, andRennie and Adrian adrift in the dark, inadequate for a whileto console each other. For weeks they were out of touch,unable to grope their way to common ground which wouldnot crumble beneath their feet.

And then one morning, after a night of pacing, Adrian hadsaid, "There’s only the two of us. Why shouldn’t we sell upand go abroad, Rennie? South Africa, I should think—plenty of room there. We’ll farm and try to strike roots."

The absurdity of two people who had lived among booksseriously considering large-scale farming in the veld hadnot struck Rennie at the time. Plenty of men were forsakingoffice desks for more adventurous occupations in theDominions, and Adrian, not yet fifty and well-read,appeared to have much in his favor. Anything was betterthan the strange stupor which had settled over them.

They had sold up and come to Durban, met the inevitablereal estate salesman and, on his recommendation, hadbought a large tract of land seven hundred miles away.Splendid growing soil, he had told them, which bordered atributary of the Limpopo, so there would be no lack ofwater, which was an immense advantage.

Armed with all the bulletins on maize-growing even issuedby the South African Department of Agriculture they hadcome north, erected a mud-brick house with a corrugatediron roof and block-wood floors, installed rain tanks and awatermill, and furnished the five rooms in rattan and teakfrom Gravenburg.

And here they were, by no means prosperous, wonderingall the time whether they wouldn’t have done better with

cotton or soya beans, or anything but the maize which, lastseason, had happily housed huge families of the stalk-borer pest. Three bags to the acre had been a frightfulblow. This season they had ploughed and bought soilfumigants, paid well for guaranteed seed, and temporarilyengaged an Afrikaner to superintend the planting. And theyhad taken the precaution of mixing the crops. Surely theywould not be let down again.

She ran along the corridor, past George, whose blackwoolly head with an artificial parting shaved down thecentre circled jerkily as he polished the floor, and throughthe kitchen to the pantry, where she kept her stores list.Carefully, she cheated each item and queried a couplewhich she thought might be left over for the present. Theyrather depended on whether her father's books wereavailable.

Rennie got out the car, a doubtful acquisition from Durban,and rocketed away along the dusty track which crossed theriver by a stone bridge and linked up with the main road toGravenburg. This other side of the river there were moretrees and the air had a softer, more merciful quality, thoughat this time of day, with the sun burning almost dueoverhead, there was little shade.

Adrian’s favorite bookshop—in fact the sole shop of itskind in Gravenburg—could report no success with hisorder. When the books did arrive from Johannesburg, said

the old man with his genial smile, they would be sent atonce to Mayenga. He knew Adrian’s impatience over suchthings. So Rennie bought her full quota of stores anddecided, in a mood of expansiveness, to drive the long wayhome, recrossing the bridge and following the trailalongside the river.

She swung the car round the bend of the river and slowedat the sight of unfamiliar activity. Natives were busy on theother side tearing up the ferns and vines between the trees,lopping thin branches and loading them into a smart newtruck. Oh, heavens, what a pity. She had always enjoyed thejungly look of the other bank, the big red vine-flowerspasted flat on the dark vegetation and the queer rubberyplants with exposed, rake-like roots. She and Adrian hadoften picnicked here, where the cottonwood log thrust intothe water, and she could sit on it and dip her toes while hebrowsed over a book. They had conjectured about the ageand height of the trees.

Rennie had known three months ago that the land was sold.One Sunday, on their way to the foothills of the mountains,she and Adrian had passed the half-finished homestead,which lay back from the Gravenburg road, higher up thanthe spot at which their track joined it. The dwelling was inmodern Colonial style, very well built, with actually a secondstorey under a green-tiled roof, and pergolas erected thewhole length of the drive. Already bougainvillea roots wereestablished at the foot of the pillars, and palms and shrubs

planted in the garden. Obviously, the owner did not intendwasting any growing time. Now, his clearing operations hadreached the river and were spreading very quickly along itsbank.

Rennie slid out on to the path, stepped through a border oftough grass and jumped lightly on to the flat worn surface ofthe log. It was a grand stretch of river, narrow here, butwidening within view and disappearing with an enchantingdistant gurgle over a shallow ledge. Burdened branchesarched over it and dipped their emerald tips.

"Mfana! Hold it taut. Cinile! Fana galo."

Rennie's head turned swiftly. Lord, what a tall man, andwhat a width across the back of his shoulders. He and anative were stretching a steel tape such as surveyors usebetween one tree and its fellows, and apparently thisparticular specimen was condemned. The tape zippedback into its metal cover, and the man twisted. Darklytanned, his cheekbones a little high, and a cleft chin.Rennie got the impression that beneath the straight bladebrows his eyes must be disconcertingly blue anddiscerning. Maybe it was the aloofness in his expressionwhich made her decide that she preferred men less darkand unsmiling.

"How d’you do!" he called across the narrow band of water,in a voice a little less chilling than his demeanor. "I’m your

new neighbor. Kent Bradfield, forestry man."

"Rennie Gaynor," she returned, unable to quell the habitualsmile. "I shall miss the trees."

"We’re only felling a few — just enough to give the others achance, but if you’re needing any timber for fencing, let meknow. I’ve an abundance of it."

Was it merely a neighborly suggestion, or had he noticedMayenga’s lack of good boundaries? On the point ofapologizing for it, Rennie paused.

"The usual split poles look rather grim," she said. "I’d preferto plant a boundary of trees when we can . . ." she had beenabout to say, "when we can afford it," but she changed to:"when we can get hold of the sort we want."

His attention on his boys, he asked, "What kind do youwant?"

"Evergreens, if possible — big trees like blue gums andpines, and a date palm here and there to soften the view. "

"Gum trees soak all the moisture from the land. They shouldnever be grown on farms. And palms need attention whilethey’re

young. They grow best in gardens."

His complete casualness piqued Rennie. She would like tohave said something devastating enough to imprint a frownor a smile on that brutally handsome face— preferably aferocious frown. Now why on earth should she want toannoy a man she had met for the first time only five minutesago? What had happened to her usual debonairacceptance of new acquaintances?

Politely, she asked, "Is your house finished yet?"

He nodded negligently. "Finished and furnished. And itfaces north."

No mistaking the emphasis. Rennie hadn't lived for a yearat Mayenga without discovering that their cream-washedfarmhouse fronted the wrong way. She and Adrian hadbeen guided simply by the distant pinnacles andundulations of cedars and huge-girthed baobabs whichwould be visible from the stoep and through the Frenchdoor. They had agreed that it would be senseless to wasteso much beauty on the back windows, and promptlydecided to face south, away from the sun. Consequently,the kitchen and bedrooms sweltered while a sepulchral chillpermeated the front rooms. The chill was only comparative,for Mayenga lay within the hot belt, but Rennie, like mostpeople who settle in sunny places, almost unconsciouslypreferred the warmth of the back stoep to the dim coolnessof the front.

Her back had stiffened, her small chin gone firm. "You'll getmosquitoes in your lounge," she remarked coolly.

"That's the idea of it," he answered carelessly. "Ratherthere, where they can be seen and massacred, than in thebedrooms." Pointedly, he inclined his head, indicating herhand. "Does that adhesive dressing on your wrist hide abite?"

Rennie hoped that the pink mantling her cheeks wasinvisible at twenty-five feet.

"I expect I got it down here by the river."

"Possibly, but even so your house faces the way itshouldn't. Pity you didn't seek advice before you built. AnySouth African" — with nicely-balanced satire — "couldhave told you that the Transvaal is south of the Equator, andthat it's more comfortable to face the tropics if you can."

Rennie knew herself at a disadvantage but scorned tomake the obvious rejoinder to the beastly sarcasm. Shebegan to prepare for a stately retreat.

"By the way," he added offhandedly, "your irrigationchannels need widening and to be kept fairly moist, andthat cotton you've planted should be flooded between rains;it’s not looking over-bright. What made you go in forcotton?"

"Why not?" she demanded shortly. "There’s no charge forexperimenting on one's own land."

"Quite. But cotton-growing on a commercial scale in SouthAfrica is a headache to experts. Women make poorplanters, and if they are bitten with the farming bug theyshould concentrate on dairy cattle and poultry."

Carefully and with dignity, Rennie got down from her log.Her face was burning and a definite little ball of anger hadgathered in her throat.

"We’re not in farming to make a fortune," she retorted. "Andultimately we shall profit by our mistakes."

"Ultimately is a long time," he observed calmly. "Far morecomfortable to take advantage of other people's errors andstart from there. It's the usual procedure with farming. Still,"with a dismissive shrug, "it's no business of mine if youdecide to tip out your capital on dud crops. I've never yetmet the woman who'd listen to advice and act upon it.What, going?" in mock surprise. "Goodbye, then."

The car had to jib, of course, and Rennie had to spend afew mortifying moments sorting the gears. And it wasn’t tooeasy to reverse, either, on the rutted track. She didn’tglance across the river again, and by the time she hadreached home her fury had cooled, though her pride stillthrobbed from the encounter.

An insufferable man. One of those who considers mengods and women unnecessary; for whom everything cameright because he planned and commanded it that way.Fortunately, the river lay between his land and theirs, andshe was certain his arrogance would not permit him to seektheir friendship uninvited.

Rennie bought her two pieces of Gouda, a tall flower jarand a fat bowl with a lid. They showed up beautifully againstthe white wall, and once they were set upon the lightvarnished top of Adrian’s bookshelves, she seldom enteredthe room without seeing them before everything else, fiveguineas worth of quiet enjoyment. A dreadful extravagance,but she spent little on clothes, and Adrian had maintainedthat as a mental stimulant the ornaments were worth twicethe price.

"You're too fond of spending the spare shillings for mycomfort," he contended. "This home is half yours, my dear,and as far as possible, I want you to s urround yourself withthings you like. It can’t be much fun for you, living atMayenga with a bookish parent, and little chance of achange."

"But it is fun, and if we have a good harvest it will be moreso. We'll be able to employ Fourie as a permanentforeman. He knows everything about farming, so that you'llhave heaps of leisure. You might even have time to makethe lecture tour that was offered you through the agent in

Cape Town, and, of course, I'd go with you."

"Everything depends on our getting plenty of rain. Youknow, Rennie, I'm afraid our irrigation isn't good enough.We ought to have improved it before the spring planting."

Rennie remembered that Kent Bradfield had implied thesame. "The rain came just after we'd planted. That's a goodomen, according to the boys. The Farming journal ispublishing record prices."

"We won't worry," he said easily. "Maize is our main crop. Ifit fails us again we'll switch to something else. At least wecan grow our own food, and with plenty of dairy products onhand we shall never go hungry."

Adrian, steeped in the theory of farming, had no conceptionof the practical straining and stretching Rennie had toaccomplish in order to conjure three meals a day for thetwo of them. The natives also, satisfied on weekdays withthe mealies and yams they grew in their own section of theplantation, expected a ration of good red meat for theweek-end. Meat was expensive, and Rennie was forced totake whatever the butcher sent in on Fridays fromGravenburg. Apart from this, their way of living was alreadydown to a minimum. Rennie would even have managedwithout a houseboy had George demanded wages. As ithappened, he was content with the privilege of having hisSophie and the piccaninnies living on the farm and costing

him nothing. Whenever Rennie reproached herself overGeorge she took consolation from Sophie's ready smileand the healthy plumpness of the children.

Once, looking at Rennie with a small frown of concern, herfather had said: "You're too young to be buried at Mayenga,Rennie. You need friends of your own, and opportunities ofmeeting men. Girls get married at twenty, don't they?"

"Some of them, darling, but not Rennie . . . not yet. There'splenty of time."

Rennie thought ahead to the lecture tour her father wouldundoubtedly make at some rosy date in the future. She andAdrian would travel all the cities and towns of the Union,and perhaps one evening, across a roomful of guests insomebody's house, her eyes would meet a man's, and shewould know that the stupendous had come to pass; herewas her love, her life. She must be more definite about hiscoloring, though. No black hair and eyebrows for Rennie.

There was never time for lengthy dreams. Invariably theywere interrupted by a boy needing medicine, or a summonsto one of the outhouses, or a saucepan prosaically boilingover on the wood stove. As soon as they could reckon onfair crops she would call and see Jan Fourie, the temporaryforeman, and offer him steady employment. He would workbetter once he knew that his job was secure.

As it turned out, Fourie himself had plans. One eveningRennie had left George watching a steak pie and a panfulof potato chips while she ran out and chased a hen off thedahlias and back into the small poultry enclosure. Whenshe returned to the kitchen. Jan Fourie sat at the deal table,dourly smoking his meerschaum and ignoring the harassedhouseboy. Her heart plunged. When Jan took the trouble toseek her out there was generally some sort of catastrophein the offing. He seldom bothered her otherwise.

She smiled. "Good evening, Jan. Did George bring yousome refreshment?"

With deliberation he examined the bowl of his pipe beforeknocking it out on the ashtray on the table in front of him.Meticulously, he blew ash from the lapel of his jacket.

"I hardly ever drink, Miss Rennie," he said with a hint ofsententiousness. "And in any case I would not encourage ahouseboy to offer his master's hospitality withoutpermission."

"You're no stranger, Jan — you might have helped yourself.Do you wish to see my father?"

He shook his head. "You will do as well — better, in fact."She had to ignore the slight to Adrian implicit in his manner."You won't like what I have to say, Miss Rennie. I’ve cometo tell you that I want to finish with your farm altogether."

"Oh. I ... I’m sorry, Jan. I suppose it’s money. Is it any goodpromising you a job and a bonus at harvest time?"

His thick features did not change. "For all you know it maybe a meagre harvest. But it isn’t money — it’s security I’mafter. With you I shall be on for a season and off for aseason. You can’t help it, but it's so. If I could be sure ofpermanent work I wouldn’t leave Mayenga, but now I havethe chance of a small farm, and my wife is anxious for me totake it. I have three children; it is she and they who have tosuffer when I earn no wages. You understand?"

"Perfectly." Rennie paused before adding with desperateimpulsiveness: "We still have a few virgin acres at the topof the plantation. If my father consents, will you farm themfor your own profit as extra payment? You may use ourtractor and borrow the ox-team. Won't you consider that,Jan?"

The man shrugged uncomfortably. "You need that land tomake the farm pay. Everything your land will produce youneed yourselves."

True enough, though she had hoped it was not so patent.They could not yet afford to work the whole of the acreage.As if he were debating aloud, Rennie knew exactly whatwas passing in the Afrikaner’s mind.

"You consider us bad boers, don't you, Jan?" she said, with

an unhappy smile. "You haven’t forgiven us for planting amixed crop and including cotton. Perhaps we were rathertoo optimistic, yet you'll admit that most of the fields lookgreen and healthy." Unconvincingly, she tacked on: "It'spossible that even the cotton may repay us."

"I doubt it," he returned stolidly. "Cotton is a chancy crop.You will have trouble there for sure. Mr. Bradfield thinks thesame."

"Mr. Bradfield!" So the tall brown man was again mindingher business. "When did he say that?"

"Just this afternoon. I had set the boys cutting bamboosnear the river and he was supervising some building on theother side. He is erecting some fine sheds, in brick andstucco." Rennie detected in this remark a disparagingcomparison with their own wooden structures. "We gottalking. He told me the red stainer pest is prevalent again,and you'd better have those kapok trees felled if you don’twant the cotton infested. Kapoks harbor red stainer."

"So ... he advises us to have them down!" Unreasonablerage rose in Rennie. How dare the man stroll up and downhis side of the river surveying the Gaynor fields and pickingholes wherever he could! "I don’t care what he says. Thekapok trees are established and valuable. We got fourshillings a pound for the down last year, and it would bemad to throw away certain profits like that."

"It is not good farming to grow cotton near kapok." Againthe heavy shoulders came up in a shrug. "Mr. Bradfieldthinks it would be wise for you to put a couple of hundredacres under citrus as soon as a strip near the river fallsvacant. In the long run it would be less costly, and withcitrus, once they bear you have a certain annual crop. Hesays this farm could be made to yield a fine profit."

Rennie said coolly: "When we need Mr. Bradfield’s helpwe’ll ask for it. All right, Jan. If you’re determined to leaveus____"

The foreman went out and Rennie relieved George at thestove. Enveloped in a continuous billow of heat, hermovements jerky with anger intensified by a sort ofhumiliation, she prepared sweet sauce for the pudding.

It was unfortunate enough that Jan Fourie, farming lore athis fingertips, should be departing because he could seeno future for himself and his family at Mayenga. That theGaynors’ lamentable lack of funds and practical experienceshould be so obvious to the newcomer across the river cutdeeply. How she would like to prove him wrong. Surelythere was something one could spray upon kapok trees todeter red stainer? Adrian would know; he was chockful ofthat kind of knowledge, and he liked experimenting.Together, they'd show Kent Bradfield that even novices . . .and women . . . occasionally possess common sense. Thesuperior, interfering tree-man!

CHAPTER TWO

THE following afternoon a heavy storm broke over thedistrict. It came in from the mountains, an advancing purplewail which split with flame and roared its continuouscrescendoes of thunder. Rennie and Adrian watched it fortwo hours from the lounge window, and rejoiced in thepounding of rain on the iron roof, and the torrents sweepingdown the paths, converting them into pink, milky rivers.When at last the clouds were spent, a yellow evening sunslanted over the wet lands, and it was too late to ride roundthe farm and revel in the fresh green of the fields.

But a day or two later, when Rennie cantered the tracks onPaddy, she was appalled by the abundance and height ofthe weeds in the fields. She recognized khaki bush andwitchweed and remembered that the bulletins had stressedthe necessity for destroying them at the earliest stages. JanFourie was gone, and there was no one but herself to drivethe tractor for harrowing. Not that she minded, so long asher father remained ignorant of her participation in themanual work of the farm.

Casually, that evening, she commented on the phases ofcultivation of the various crops, and the startling differenceseffected by good heavy rains. "Mixed farming is sointeresting," she told him. "I’d like to ride through the wholefarm tomorrow — take my lunch and make a day of it."

"I'll accompany you," agreed Adrian.

"No, darling, it isn't necessary for the two of us to go.Besides, we can’t both be away from the house the wholeday. You won’t object to a cold lunch?"

"Goodness, no. But don’t overtire yourself."

Cheerfully and full of zeal, clad in slacks, a white shirt and alarge straw hat, Rennie set out, her picnic meal suspendedin a canvas bag from Paddy's saddle. As soon as thehouse was left behind she spurred the gelding into a gallop,and fifteen minutes later reined in beside the tractor. Thesix boys were waiting, and she chose from among them anintelligent Basuto as pupil driver. The rest were detailed toother tasks: two to follow the harrow and the others toscythe the weeds around the fields.

There was no breeze. A hard sunshine seared into her barearms and set up a constant perspiration beneath the strawhat and at her waist. For a while she worked fast, telling theboy at her side to watch what she did. Then she beganexplaining every turn and twist. The mealies were youngand tender, easily snapped; only with great care could theybe hoed in this fashion. Oh, yes, missus; the boyunderstood that very well. He would like to try now, please,missus. He did try and, after wrecking a line of plants, hegot the hang of it nicely, though Rennie winced at the sharp,destructive turns he made.

The morning waxed into a cruel, glaring noon. Rennie satbeneath a mango tree to eat her tomato sandwiches anddrink her coffee. Everything shimmered before her vision tillher lids drooped, protectively. Her temples buzzed and hershirt clung where it touched. Her hands still trembled fromthe concentrated effort of driving and covering the largestpossible area of ground, and little pulses jerked all over herbody. An itching beneath her belt bade her beware ofprickly heat rash. This was certainly no work for a whitewoman.

At one-thirty she started again, but all her speed andenergy were used up. The boy took the wheel completelyand she scarcely bothered to direct him. At four shestopped for camp-brewed tea and, after a further hour’ssupervising, she slipped from the tractor almost toofatigued to move. But she was pleased with the result of herday’s toil. Tomorrow, the Basuto would carry on without her,at least until the afternoon.

Somehow, she crawled on to Paddy’s back, her immediateneeds a cool bath and a well-cushioned divan in a dimroom. The hat swung on her arm and a light evening winddried her hair into flat little curls over her forehead.Inevitably, she sagged in the saddle, hardly aware of thebumps.

The quickest way home took her to the front gate of thefarmhouse, where she could call a boy to take the horse.

But the gate stood wide and, to save herself even thebriefest excursion on foot, she turned Paddy through to thepath.

A car stood on the drive hiding the stoep; a long, maroon,shining thing, far too opulent for the usual seed salesman.No doubt someone had lost his way and Adrian had invitedhim to take a sundowner.

Then Rennie saw her father at the foot of the steps, and hewas talking to the owner of the car. Her fingers contractedon the rein; her shoulders went back . . . just in time, for themen saw her and came over to where Paddy had halted.

"Rennie!" exclaimed her father. "I was just beginning to fretabout you — you’ve been away so long. Mr. Bradfield tellsme you and he have already met."

Rennie gave Kent a small distant nod. "Good evening. Kindof you to honor us."

"I was at the bookshop in town this afternoon," heexplained, bluntly ignoring her tone, "when a parcel for yourfather arrived. As I live this way I relieved the bookseller ofthe trouble of sending it."

"Which pleased me mightily, I can tell you," put in Adrian.

She could not help but accept the helping hand which Kentextended. Walking between the two men to the car, she

saw that empty tumblers, a jug of water and a whisky bottleadorned the steep wall.

Masking her weariness with a conventional smile, she saidto Kent: "So you were just leaving?"

"I was." To Adrian he added: "I’ll send over those saplingsand a man to plant them."

Rennie turned and faced them both. "What saplings?"

"Oaks," he answered briefly.

"Kent has generously offered to let us have his surplustrees to set as windbreaks," said Adrian.

"I don’t care for African oaks. Besides, they lose theirleaves in winter."

"They make good timber," said Kent quietly. "Also they willgrow well in any soil without harming the crops." Which ismore than you can say for blue gums, added his tone.

"This isn’t the tree-planting season," she persisted, hopingfor

Adrian's support. But her father had gone indoors, to hisprecious new books.

"These saplings are in palm-fibre pots." Kent returned

crisply. "They merely have to be set in watered hollows, asthey are. The fibre disintegrates and the roots spread,undisturbed. My man has handled thousands without afailure." Perhaps he noticed the convulsive swallow, thefaint quiver of her lips, for his eyes — as blue as her guess— sharpened and flickered over her. "Do you often spendthe whole day in the fields?"

"Only when it's necessary."

"Fourier left you, hasn't he? What are you going to do for aforeman?"

"Eventually, we shall employ another."

"Eventually? Meanwhile you fight a losing battle with lazyboys, and the weeds thrive and choke your fields. Thatsounds a pleasant outlook for a girl of twenty. Does yourfather ever emerge from the world of literature to enquirehow things are going?"

One way or another, Rennie had borne a great deal today;the faint criticism of Adrian hurt abnormally, perhapsbecause it was based on a tiny germ of fact. Adrian nevershirked the farm work, though he was certainly apt to forgetit for hours together. But Mayenga was not Kent Bradfield'sconcern, and she intended to make him realize it.

She was standing at Kent's left side, her glance upon thehard brown chin. A thin line, only a shade or two paler than

the rest of his skin, began just under his jaw and trailedbackwards for about four inches. With a sense of shock itdawned on her that it was a scar, made practically invisibleby a miracle of modern surgery. Swiftly, as though he wereaware of her scrutiny, his head turned, presenting to her thereverse and flawless side of his features.

She looked away and spoke quickly.

"You needn't be sarcastic at my father’s expense. We’re fartoo happy to be objects of pity, and if we do end the seasonwith a deficit we shall have had our money's worth inenjoyment"

"Trust a woman," he said with a hint of anger, "to translateneighborly intention into crude charity. Very well, then. Thetrees will be available if you want them, and you mayborrow my tackle for uprooting trees if you decide to get ridof those kapoks." A brittle pause. "Afraid I can'trecommend a foreman — there aren't many farming menwho'll give in to the whims of a woman — but I'll willinglylend my own superintendent for a few days, if you'd preferhis advice to mine. Goodbye."

The car door thudded and he purred away. Rennie wentinside, threw her hat down on to the chesterfield andslumped beside it. So much for Kent Bradfield.

He was too dark, too good-looking, too imperious, too free

with his lordly generosity, too frank in his contempt forwomen . . . and too dangerously masculine. Let him stay onhis own side of the Lamu. She and Adrian must get alongwithout his assistance.

The first harrowing was finished and the maize looked pest-free and luxuriant, many acres of shimmering green Africancorn. Round the native huts Kaffir corn grew in greatflowering bushes, and bronze-skinned Sophie tended apatch of beans and sweet potatoes.

Spring merged almost overnight into high summer, theevenings electric with dry, violet-hued lightning. Singingbeetles became clamorous in the garden and every lampwas besieged by moths and hard-backs. At dusk thescissor-wings changed quarters, rising from the veld inglimmering, transparent clouds.

Last year Christmas had slipped over Rennie and Adrianalmost unnoticed. They had been only a few weeks atMayenga, and new sights and experiences had awakenednew perceptions, to the exclusion of the customaryperennial type of enjoyment.

Adrian had said, "Next year we’ll have some friends out forthe day and make a real festival of it. We'll know lots ofpeople by then."

He hadn't reckoned with the huge distances between

farms, the practical impossibility of acquiring close friendsin Gravenburg. For though the town was only twelve milesaway, to enter one its social clubs required money andmore time than either of them could spare. One had to beon hand for bridge, evening parties, polo matches,swimming and tennis, and one had to dress to line up, if notcompete, with townspeople who possessed unlimitedleisure and enough money to make the best of themselves.They hadn't made any close friends, after all.

Her first six months at Mayenga taught Rennie many things,beside a little about farming. By town standards, shelearned with dismay, the Gaynors were poor, and only to becultivated if they pushed into a certain circle. The farmingfolk in the district were different; they had all had theirstruggles and setbacks, but they were Afrikaners, sturdypeople of the earth; kindly, cautiously hospitable, but withhardly a word of English between them.

Whereas with natives the lack of a common language couldbe entertainingly overcome by signs and emphasizing themore potent words in a sentence, or even the substitution ofa few syllables of kitchen Kaffir culled from a dictionary,ignorance of the Afrikaans language was a definite barrierto communication with its people. Here, even in town whereeveryone was bilingual, the English speaking South Africanwas one of a minority.

So it looked as though the festive season would again

bring only the small excitements they created for eachother. Rennie didn’t mind. There was nothing at Mayenga toremind one of the orthodox English Christmas.

About the middle of December, Rennie managed somemincemeat, a rich fruit cake and a pudding, and she hid inher room a book of essays she had bought for Adrian, aslim volume bound in grey suede, with an illustrious name ingilt script upon the cover.

It was from Mr. Morgan the bookseller, Adrian’s good friendand crony, that she heard of her father's hankering for thoseparticular essays, and it was also he who imparted a fewdetails about Kent Bradfield.

"Now that he’s taken Elands Ridge he’s your neighbor, ofcourse," the old man gossiped, ruminatively raising hisbristling white brows. "I’ve known Kent for about fifteenyears. He must be thirty-two now. His father was a lawyerhere in Gravenburg, and everyone thought Kent wouldfollow the same profession. He seemed to have themakings of a first-class legal man. He went to RhodesUniversity

for several years, and had hardly got back here when thewar started, and before you could say cook-book, he'djoined the South African Air Force and was stunting allalong the North African coast. I believe he enjoyed it, too.After that he went to Italy, where he collected a wound in an

air battle. Just as the war ended his father died — hismother had passed away a couple of years before. Kentcame home, tied up his father's affairs, and bought apartnership in an aviation company on the Rand."

"He calls himself a forestry man," inserted Rennie with asuspicion of terseness.

"So he is. He's studied trees for years, and used to spendhis long leaves in the West African forests, just for thepleasure of living among them." Mr. Morgan tapped at thebook on the counter. "Maybe, after flying, he couldn’t settleto planting right away, so he tried civil aviation to . . . well,break him in. Kent is a very sane man."

"I’ve noticed it. He attempts to be sane for other people,too."

The pale eyes twinkled. "Has he been telling you how to runMayenga?"

"He has! According to him we do nothing right, and wecan’t hope to succeed in anything we’ve undertakenbecause I happen to be a woman."

Smiling, Mr. Morgan shook his head. "Get to know him,Rennie, and you’ll like him better. He can be charmingwhen he tries — even to women! There’s only one thingwrong with Kent; he's too much of a man's man. He ought tohave married."

Privately, Rennie wondered if it were not just as well that hehad remained a bachelor. A man so self-assured andimpregnable would be terribly difficult for any woman to geton with, quite apart from the fact of his having so muchaffection for his trees.

"Now that he's settled in these parts for good, he’s going tobe one of my best customers," went on Mr. Morgan. "Youmight not guess it, but Kent is quite a reader."

Rennie grimaced. "Books on farming and forestry, Isuppose?"

"Not always. His last order included a treatise on socialeconomics, a thriller, two classic reprints and a best-sellingnovel. His taste in literature is as catholic as his view isbroad."

A paragon, in fact, thought Rennie; an annoying example ofwhat a man might become if he had everything his ownway. What a mercy that his type was rare in this world.

The following week, only six days before Christmas, Renniereceived a letter which put all else out of her mind. Sheread it twice, standing on the path in the hot sun, and wasback at Castledene, in Surrey, packing her trunk in thedormitory and assuring Jacqueline Caton that she mustn'tcry; although she was leaving school a whole term beforeJackie they would be friends for ever. Jackie had burst into

a fresh crescendo of sobs and flung her arms aboutRennie.

"Dearest, sweetest Rennie, life will be appalling withoutyou. I shall die, I know I shall, without my Ren to banish myblues."

Five minutes later the girl had collapsed with helplessmerriment over a pink pantie leg peeping from thestrapped trunk. Jackie, heartbreak or no, had ever an eyefor the ludicrous.

Rennie and the vivacious little dark girl had been friendsfrom the age of twelve, when Rennie, after her mother’s firstbreakdown in health, had gone as a boarder toCastledene. Jackie, installed at the school since she wasseven, owned no real home; her father's business took himabroad much of the time, and mostly his wife accompaniedhim. Till Rennie came to Castledene Jackie had passedthe vacations in a Mayfair flat. Then everything changed.Each holiday she travelled to St. John's Wood with herdarling Ren, and slept in one of the white twin beds in theroom that looked out over a lawn with a flowering cherry inthe middle. She danced about the Gaynor villa in delightfulsilk wraps and pyjamas. She bought foolish, expensive giftsfor Rennie and her parents, hugged them impartially anddeclared them the "loveliest family ever." When she talkedat school about "home" she meant the house in St. John’sWood and Rennie’s delightful parents.

But between the ages of seventeen and nineteen, Rennieand Jacqueline Caton had met only rarely, and each timethe volatile Jackie had been poised on the crest of a waveof girlish passion for some young man she hardly knew.The Kensington grandparents with whom she now lived forthree parts of the year had strict ideas regarding a girl’supbringing. To be honest, as Jackie was when it suited her,none of her "affairs" could ever have blossomed into asatisfying kind of love, but they helped to mitigate theboredom of existence with a starchy old couple who spelleddanger into the most conventional situation which theireffervescent grand-daughter might share with a man. SoJackie's affairs were, perforce, based almost entirely onher too-vivid imagination.

A week after Mrs. Gaynor’s death, Jackie had come to St.John's Wood. By then, Rennie had reached a dry, dumbstate of grief, and the other girl’s tears had gratedunbearably. Jackie had so much; she could afford to cry forothers. Later, Rennie had purposely withheld news of theirdeparture from England till it was too late to arrange ameeting for goodbyes — Jackie was apt to wallow inemotional scenes — but since their arrival in the Transvaalseveral letters had passed between Mayenga andKensington.

And now, after a silence of three months, Jackie had writtento ask if she and her mother might spend a few days withthem at Christmas. It seemed too utterly fantastic to be true.

Rennie ran indoors, found her father pulling on his ridingboots in the hall, and waved the letter at him.

"It’s from Jackie! Read it"

"I can’t, my dear. I’ve left my glasses somewhere. Whatdoes she say?"

"She wants to come for Christmas — she and her mother— for about four days from Christmas Eve. Jackie here atMayenga! Can you believe it?"

After a quiet moment of surprise, he laughed indulgently.

"Excites you, doesn’t it? You were always fond of Jackie —attraction of opposites, I suppose. She used to be a littlemonkey, yet everyone liked her."

"I want her to come, of course, but how on earth are wegoing to accommodate them?"

"Oh. That's rather a problem when you’ve only twobedrooms, and neither of them large. I think Mrs. Caton hadbetter have mine; you’ve made it by far the morecomfortable."

"No. I won’t have that."

"But you must. There’s a perfectly good stoep at the side

which will convert into a sleeping porch for me. We canstand the expense of a couple of camp beds."

"Still, I hate turning you out. And I’m afraid they’ll expectgood catering. They’re accustomed to the best ofeverything."

"Why not? It’s only for a few days. We ought to be able torise to that." He gave her his slow, endearing smile. "We’llbe reckless for once, and pull in afterwards. This is justwhat you need, Rennie. Remember the way you two usedto chatter in your bedroom, till I knocked on the door andtold you to save the rest till morning?"

"I do. Jac always giggled and went on whispering. But lasttime we saw her she was changing, becoming even morefrivolous. Her tone of writing is frightfully sophisticated."Rennie paused. "Isn’t it odd, though, to come here forChristmas?"

"Was the letter sent from London?"

"Yes, Kensington."

"No mention of a reason for leaving her grandparents atsuch a time?"

"Apparently her father is taking up an appointment in CapeTown at the New Year, and all three are travelling by air toJohannesburg. The father goes straight on, by plane."

"They’re separating—on Christmas Eve?" Adrianshrugged. "Perhaps we’re old-fashioned, Rennie.Whatever their reason for visiting us, I’m grateful, for yoursake. Jackie will help to make this a memorable Christmasfor you. We could try to persuade her to stay on for a while."

He went out, and Rennie found a notepad and pencil andbegan calculating the financial side of the visit. She wouldbuy only one camp bed, for Adrian, and get a boy to makeup a framework which she herself could upholster andcover, and convert into a sort of divan, which might lookattractive in the hall during the daytime besides providing abed for herself at night. They would need extra groceries,some wine and whisky, a length of material for curtains andcovers to enhance Rennie's bedroom. And, oh goodness,Jackie and her mother would bring gifts and expect somein return.

There was nothing for it but to set aside ten pounds for thepurpose of entertaining Jackie and Adela Caton, and tohope with crossed fingers that a pound or two of it might goback into the dwindling reserve fund. Having come to whichdecision Rennie cheerfully sent off her cable to Jackie andset about her preparations. She sewed and baked, rushedinto town and back again, galloped out to relieve Adrianwhile he returned to the house for meals, and sandwichedin between all this her usual farm chores. And all the whileshe was thinking how wonderful it would be to have Jackie

to laugh and gossip with. Somehow, Jac infused the dullestincident with her sparkle. When she was about, thingshappened.

C H A P T E R T H R E E JACKIE'S plane was due toarrive at dawn. She and her mother would breakfast at theairport and take the eight o'clock train north, which shouldreach Gravenburg at six in the evening.

Rennie and Adrian were ready before five, but she had tohave a last look at every room. Adrian's severely green andgrey, relieved from semi-monasticity by the bowl of orangeand white poppies on the dressing-table. Her own room,transformed by stiff white spot-muslin curtains andbedspread, and a sweet Dolly Varden concocted from apacking case, a few yards of flowered cotton and a barbolamirror touched up with paint. Jackie would adore the DollyVarden in the small bay window; she would spread herskirts over the stool tilt her head and unashamedly soak inher lovely image in the mirror. A few times, when they wereat school together, Rennie had envied the raven-haired littleminx her air of knowledge and ease. Even in her teens shehad carried an atmosphere of mystery and beguilement. Attwenty she must be ravishing. How crazy to be so utterlythrilled at the prospect of seeing Jac again.

Adrian said: "You're like a kitten on hot coals. Let's start,shall we?"

The train came in late but there was plenty to observe whilethey waited. On the opposite platform crowds of nativesjostled and laughed and hugged their bundles, or squattedin circles and threw home-made dice. These were cityworkers returning to the locations for the night. Trains wereso infrequent that often they had to spend two hours waitingfor one to take them five miles. It was not that they had lostthe native faculty for long, tireless walking, but they lovedcrowding into trains and hanging out of the glasslesswindows, singing and shouting. It gave them a sense ofpower to produce a coin and buy a ticket, to step into thedusty carriage and join the scrum for the wooden seats.

The train came in and a few people got out. Rennie spedalong to the last open door and into Jacqueline's madly-waving arms.

"Rennie, you wonderful thing! I’ve been dying for this. Youhaven’t changed a bit."

"You have, Jac! You're lovelier than ever."

So she was. A piquant, laughing face, brilliant dark eyesand clouds of smoky hair topped by a delicious little rake ofa hat that flaunted scarlet ribbons to the breeze. A Parisfrock in devastating silk tartan, and a short white lambskincoat. Perhaps it was the wide green background, thehovering dusk, which helped Jac to appear so vital andjubilant.

"Rennie, darling, here’s Mother. Adela, you rememberRennie Gaynor? Sweet as ever, isn’t she? Lead us to yournoble father, Rennie! I always loved him, though I’m sure hedisapproved of me sometimes."

Adela, tall, tailored and lacquered, extended a beautifully-kept hand. In spite of make-up and poise, the dissatisfieddroop at the corners of her mouth was plainly visible.Obviously, a fly threatened the amber of Adela’s content.But after greeting Adrian and fussing a little over the twogrips, she made a charming companion. She sat besidehim in the car while the two girls occupied the back. Shedid not complain about the choking dust and thecorrugations in the road surface, and only once did shemention that this was a rather long twelve miles. Which wasexceptionally long-suffering, for Adela.

Jackie kept up a flow of questions and comments.

"How can you bear to live so far from everywhere, Rennie?Isn’t the bushveld nearly as unhealthy as the tropics?Someone told us we must take quinine to avoid malaria.You don’t do that? But, Rennie, think of what you’re risking!I’d die of fright if I thought I had malaria. And, darling, youwork so hard — and at farming. It sounds terribly grim. Youcan’t mean that you enjoy living here and grubbing aboutwith the soil. Gravenburg, I should think, one could toleratefor a short time, but you are buried away miles from thetown. What do you do for men?"

"What sort of men?" asked Rennie, intentionally obtuse.

Jacqueline threw out her hands. "Eligibles, you idiot. Niceboys to play with, serious ones with property from whom tochoose a husband." Her head lay critically on one side. "Inyour quiet way you’re pretty, Rennie. That rich brown hairand grey eyes make an appealing combination, and such amouth as yours should be kissed . . . often. Don’t blush,Rennie! It should, and I don’t care if your learned fatherhears me say it." As Adrian’s head turned for an instant shedazzled him with a smile. "When you look like that, Mr.Gaynor, it is easy to see where Rennie gets her goodfeatures."

Yes, Jackie was still a bit of a puss, and one still liked herat sight. She was incorrigible and ingenuously charming.Volubly staccato over the crisp white bedroom whichRennie had prepared, she clasped the frilly pyjama caseand pirouetted. But presently she sobered and came closeto where Rennie stood.

"You're wondering why we’re here, aren’t you, darling?Christmas in the bushveld hardly sounds like Jackie, doesit? It isn’t, really, but I honestly was aching to see you again.I persuaded Adela to come. She and my father are . . . well,not so indispensable to each other as they used to be.She's upset about his taking this post at Cape Town; if shesettles there with him it will mean losing all her friends inEngland and making a new set at the Cape." She

grimaced. "I must say I think it’s rather selfish of Popsie, buthe says they're getting older all the time and he wants ahome." She sighed, but not unhappily. "A few days apartmay make both of them give in just a wee bit."

"You don’t mind not being with him at Christmas?"

"Oh, no. We’re not that kind of family unit — we’ve beenapart too often. We'll probably have a few parties later on tomake up for missing this time together. Here comes Adela.Don’t let her guess that I've told you."

It was a jolly evening, rich with reminiscences anduncomplicated goodwill. Mutually, they had agreed oneleven o'clock as bedtime, but midnight was long pastwhen at last they yawned their way to their separate beds.

Next morning Adela breakfasted in her room and Jackieblithely lent a willing, if inexpert hand in the dairy. So nooncame before they all exchanged gifts and good wishes, anddrank a festive toast round the decorated pine branchwhich Rennie had planted in a tub of sand.

"When I was a child," said Adela, "we used to blow out aChristmas candle on the tree and wish — each one of us."

"Out loud?" demanded her daughter.

"No, inside our heads. We believed in it."

"Did your wishes come true ?"

"Quite often. We weren’t so foolish as to ask for theimpossible."

"Rennie!" exclaimed Jacqueline. "Light the candles." "Notin

daylight. Wait till this evening."

"I've got my wish all ready," Jackie lamented. "A marvellouswish complete with trimmings, but perhaps it will be morefun when the others are here."

Blankly, Rennie's brain repeated, "The others!" But hertongue kept silent. Frantically, she caught Adrian's eye, towarn him. He gave her one of his slow, comprehendingsmiles and her breathing evened out, though her heart stillbeat quickly. This was awful. Gaily disregarding theevidence of her senses, Jackie was expecting a Christmasparty; no doubt she visualized hordes of handsome youngfarmers crunching up the drive, bursting into the house andrequesting mistletoe ... or else.

Adrian said quietly: "I’m afraid we haven’t arranged anyhigh jinks, Jackie — we haven't been established here longenough for that — but we can drive into Gravenburg afterdinner for music and dancing. I believe there's an openChristmas Party at the Pinetree Club."

At least another five pounds, Rennie groaned to herself,and she wasn't at all sure that the single evening dress inher wardrobe had anything in common with today’sfashions; it was at least three years old. Why couldn'tJackie be content to lead the rustic life for these four days?

They dressed for dinner, Adela in flowing blue, her daughterin tight-bodiced white with a full skirt and a scarlet bolero.Both frocks were fresh from the flat-iron after their confinedjourney from England in an air grip. Rennie's green dresshad puffed sleeves which she rather thought were now outof date, but as her tan broke off abruptly between elbowand shoulder, the short sleeves would serve a purpose.There was a slight satisfaction in knowing that she couldn'thave worn a strapless gown, even had she possessed one.

After dinner, Adrian took away the lamps and set a matchto the Christmas candles. Amid laughter, each blew out aflame and wished. Adrian blew so hard that two went out;which, he averred, resting a tender glance upon Rennie,lent double strength to his wish. Adela looked pious overthe ceremony. Jackie frowned with concentration anddesire, and Rennie automatically wished, as she alwaysdid when they snapped a wishbone, for her father'scontinued good health. Nothing in the world was soimportant as that.

They went out to the car. It was a moonless night but thestars hung in a soft black sky, and the trees exchanged

whispers. The shrill chirping of cicadas mingled with thesporadic hoarse croak or bull-frogs at the water-hole, till thenoise of the engine obliterated both.

Out on the Gravenburg road they passed a house ablazewith light. Men drank and smoked on the veranda and therewas the sound of music from a wide front lounge whereyoung people danced. Then darkness again, an occasionalsmaller house, just as lively in aspect. To Jackie thisoutdoor way of spending Christmas night was thrilling. Shesaid she felt like waving a banner and telling everyone thatshe had never seen anything like it before.

As might be expected, the Pinetree Club stood within acircle of pollard pines. Each side of the floodlit drive yellowand orange cannas offered their velvet trumpets, and theexpanse of terrace was screened by palmettos, while justinside the foyer a long bank of tiny flower heads read:"Merry Christmas." The manager had apparently expendedmuch trouble on the decorations.

Dinner was just over. Flushed, well-fed couples and groupswere issuing from the dining-room to take a breath of airbefore dancing. Adrian had seated his ladies at a tablenear the bar and called the waiter. Then he was standingagain, offering his fineboned hand to someone who stoodbehind Rennie.

"Good evening, Kent. Season’s greetings to you, my boy.

Meeting anyone or would you care to join us? May Iintroduce you? We have Mrs. Caton and her daughter,Jacqueline, staying with us."

Kent moved slightly and bowed. "How do you do, Mrs.Caton . . . Miss Caton." His mouth sardonic, he looked atRennie. "Good evening, child. Happy Christmas!"

She made an acknowledgment. Jacqueline shifted, so thatthe extra chair was placed between the two girls. Kenthitched his trousers and sat. Jackie leaned towards him,interested and excited.

"Rennie said there were no men in these parts," sheexclaimed. "The place seems packed with them."

"Perhaps," suggested Kent as he studied the wine list, "shemeant no Englishmen. She’s a conservative young womanwith all

the independence of her race."

"I’m English, too, though perhaps a little less independentthan Rennie. You're the first South African I’ve spoken to."

"No, really?" — with gentle astonishment. "That’s a graveresponsibility for a man who is out of practice. Maybe adrink will help. What would you like, Mrs. Caton . . . andJacqueline?" A pause. "Well, Rennie, what’s yours?"

"Grenadilla, please," she replied politely, and sat back,withdrawing slightly from the conversation.

Jacqueline scintillated. Rennie had never seen her with aman before — a bachelor, that is — and she sat feelingfaintly stunned by the mobile beauty of Jac’s face, herquickness to take a point, the fascinating droop of lidswhen she smiled. She was all black and white and scarlet.She had little tricks, too, which were totally new to Rennie.For emphasis her fingers would flutter near to his, but nevertouch him. When he explained something her eyes openedvery wide, so that the lashes curled back almost to hereyebrows, and her mouth quivered with a sort of tremulousbliss. Her sophistication had an intriguing transparency.

Presently Kent took her off to dance. An acquaintance ofAdrian's invited Rennie to do the same, and when shecame back, exhilarated and smiling after two long dances,Kent was standing with a drink in his hand, talking toAdrian, and Jackie and her mother were absent.

Rennie took the chair next to her fathers, but Adrian caughtsight of old Mr. Morgan and excused himself.

Kent said coolly: "Would you like to dance again?"

"Not yet, thank you."

"Good." He dropped into Adrian’s chair and set down hisglass. "I loathe dancing."

"Why? Aren't you very good at it?"

He gave a brief, hard laugh. "By that token you shouldloathe farming. How's the cotton?"

"Not too bad."

"No red stainer?"

"We sprayed the kapok trees with a solution that my fathermade up. It's too early to say whether it's worked."

He offered cigarettes, and when she shook her head,slipped one between his own lips and set a match to it.

"I know the spot you’re in." he said. "Your father is alikeable man, but he's no practical farmer. It’s a pity hedidn't realize it before he bought Mayenga, but in any case,you shouldn’t object

to accepting a little advice on his behalf."

"We take the agricultural periodicals. They help us quite abit."

"All right"—with irritation. "Let's talk about something else.Why did you tell your friend that there are no men in thisdistrict?"

"I told her I knew no men, which is a different thing entirely."

"You know me."

"Do I?" Rennie's head turned his way for a second."Jacqueline was interested in eligible young men."

"So you consider me neither young nor eligible?" Needingno reply, he added rather forcibly: "There are a few thingsyou still have to learn, little one, and not only about farming."

"I'm sorry," she said swiftly, contritely. "I didn't intend apersonal hurt. You just don't strike me as the kind of manwho'd allow emotions to clutter his life. To marry, you've gotto believe in a woman . . . trust her. I rather think you'd findthat terribly difficult. Perhaps one day-"

"I shall fall in love?" he finished with cold mockery. Shehadn't meant to say that at all, but the contempt in hisexpression, the set of his chiselled features, drew sparksfrom Rennie. Her chin lifted, her mouth set.

"No," she told him. "You'll never fall in love. If you ever marryit will be for the convenience of having a wife, the pride ofpossession, like your house and your forest."

"How right you are!" he said in the same uncompromisingtone. "Have another grenadilla with me and we'll drink topeace and goodwill at Christmas-time."

She held herself averted. Kent stubbed his cigarette and litanother, and then Adrian prised himself away from his petdiscussion with the old bookseller on the subject of a publiclibrary for Gravenburg, and brought Adela Caton pack tothe table. Jacqueline turned up, squeezed between two gayyoung men, and Rennie was invited by one of them todance. With relief she detached herself from the group.

It was nearly two o'clock when they met together again inthe foyer, ready to leave.

Kent said: "Have you fixed anything for tomorrow?"

"Nothing at all," Jackie answered at once, eyes alight andwholly expectant.

"Will you all come to the polo in the afternoon and back to

Elands Ridge for dinner?"

"I have work which must be done tomorrow," said Rennieinstantly. "But Mrs. Caton and Jackie will welcome thechange from Mayenga."

"What about you, Mr. Gaynor?" Kent cut in.

"I'll stay with Rennie," her father said placidly. "I like towatch polo but I’m not a genuine late-nighter."

Kent waited and saw them into Adrian's car. To Mrs. Caton

and Jackie he smiled: "Tomorrow, then. I'll send for youaround three. I’d come myself but there will be otherguests." He stepped back. "Good night."

As the car swerved out to the road Jackie cuddled into hercorner, the lambskin snug about her chin.

"He's handsome," she whispered, "and cold as steel, andexciting. I don’t know how you can be so indifferent to him,Rennie!"

Indifferent? Could one term as indifference the antagonismthat fought to come out in words whenever they conversed? Rennie had never so thoroughly disliked a man in all herlife.

CHAPTER FOUR JACKIE, delicious in an emerald linensuit, a soft white beret perched upon her black curls, whitesandals, and cherry red nails to match her lips, had gone offwith Adela in Kent's maroon car, driven by a tall thin nativein spotless bush shirt and shorts. The triumphal exit had leftthe house tranquil and brooding.

Rennie changed into a working frock, saddled Paddy, androde up-river to where the maize ended and the cottonbegan. It had not rained for more than a fortnight andbetween the plants the bare earth was caked and crackingwide. Cobs were forming on the maize and in order toexpand and reach full size they needed water, storms of it.

As for the cotton — Rennie sighed. There was the river andhere the hundred or more acres of scrawny plants, but howto soak one with the other was beyond her ingenuity. Adriansaid it couldn't be done without expensive pumpingmachinery, but Fourie had suggested deepening andwidening the irrigation canals and running pipes through theriver bank a foot or two below water level. Fourie's methodwould be cheaper, but too protracted to be of much help tothis season's crops. She would definitely have the channelswidened at once, to get all possible benefit from the nextrains, and if the crop failed as cotton she would leave it forcotton-se ed, though it was bound to be of poor yield andquality. However, it was something to have come to adecision about the beastly stuff.

She took the beaten earth track at the end of the maizefields, and presently came to the main road through thefarm, on the other side of which lay acres of cowpeas, soyabeans, and the young fruit orchard which would not begin toearn its keep for another two years. Already, from drynessor some obscure disease, the soya beans were losing theirlower leaves, reducing the hay value as cattle feed. Shesupposed they ought to have an expert opinion on thecondition, but such things cost money.

She found Adrian in one of the sheds, mixing somephenothiazine paste for the half-dozen cows. He smiled upat her from his stool, and moved the container of powder sothat she could rest on the low bench in front of him. She slid

down, pushed back her hat, and rested her cheeks in herhands.

"You hate that messy job, don’t you?"

"The mixing is easy enough — the difficulty is in getting theanimals to lap it up. I've tried pushing it down their throatswith a tube, and blending it with food, but cows aren't nearlythe gullible idiots you'd think. When I give them thepreliminary shot of salt solution they know the phenothiazineis coming after, and it takes all the boys to handle them. I'mstill of opinion that it would be better to give them tablets."

"Tablets are even more expensive than the powder."

"We could buy them less often — say twice a year."

"But we know that our piece of grazing is worm-infested.Think how disastrous it would be if we lost cows throughneglect. Let me help you with the dosing."

"Certainly not; it isn't woman's work. You do more than yourshare — too much." Adrian uncorked the bottle of softsoap, added a dash of it to the mixture in the tin bowl on hisknees, and went on stirring with the old wooden spoon.Speculatively, he searched Rennie's face. "You've beenrestless since Jackie came. Does she set you longing forthe luxuries you haven't got?"

"Not a bit," she replied at once. "Jac's a high-spirited

person and she infects us all . . . including you, darling."

"I know that. But soon she’ll be twenty-one, and not longafterwards you’ll reach the same age. There’ll be bigcelebrations in Cape Town for Jackie. What about you?""The harvest will be here. We’ll know the worst." "Whateverthe harvest," he stated firmly, "you’re going to have aholiday for your coming-of-age ... a couple of weeks at agood hotel on the coast, and some nice clothes

to wear while you’re about it."

She smiled at him and let it pass. Adrian set aside the bowland wiped his hands, and she saw him catch sight of thecorpulent baobabs through the cloudy window, and hiswhole expression go dim and dreamy. She wouldn't mindbetting that he was at his favorite pastime of calculating thefabulous age of the trees.

Presently she reminded him gently, "The cows’ medicine,darling. I’ll go and pack away the butter and see that thedairy is clean, and when you’re through we'll call it a dayand have an early cold supper." She laughed. "Won’t it benice to have a long quiet read together after two eveningsof Jackie?"

After supper, Adrian sat at the writing table, pencilling noteson the short history of South African literature, and Rennie,on his recommendation, began reading a book-length

appreciation of the work of Olive Schreiner. Rufus, theridgeback, lay on the rug between them in that beatific stateof drowsiness which domestic pets, in common with somehumans, are apt to achieve after a good meal.

Normally, Rennie would have become as absorbed as herfather, but tonight a vague dissatisfaction spoiled herenjoyment of the printed word. Would it appear ungraciousif she turned in before Jackie and her mother came in? Oh,but that was impossible, for her bed was in the hall, throughwhich they must pass to their own bedrooms, and in anycase, Adela couldn’t sleep unless she had malted milkbefore retiring, and there was no one but Rennie to prepareit. She hoped they would not be too late.

At ten-thirty Adrian shuffled his books together.

"Bedtime, my dear. You look tired."

"You go. Your sleeping porch is like a remote private room.I’ll get ready for bed and jump in as soon as they’re home."

"I’d forgotten the Catons. I like your friends, Rennie, but I’mnot sorry that this is the third night of their four. In ourpresent financial state, guests of their type are a strain foryou. You won’t ask Jackie to stay on?"

"I don't think so, and Adela wouldn't allow it, anyway. Shewatches Jac like a Spanish duenna."

"With reason." Adrian shrugged humorously and stood up."She’s certainly a whole-time job for a parent. I’m thankfulshe isn’t my daughter. Now then, Rufus" — prodding thedog with his toe — "out you go, you parlor hound." He bentfor Rennie’s kiss. Affectionately, she touched his temple,where the hair was beginning to show white.

"Don't read too long, and don’t forget to pull the mosquitonet. Good night, darling."

Rennie put away her book and straightened chairs andcushions. The house went quiet. Soon after eleven she gotinto pyjamas and dressing gown and made up her divan.Her feet had gone cold and she shivered a little withovertiredness. She went into Jackie’s room, removed thevase of flowers, set a match to the lamp, and opened thebed. Turning, she saw herself in the mirror: small, palefeatures, the tawny hair tied with a white ribbon, her slenderfigure wrapped in a faded blue candlewick gown. It was along time since she had really studied her reflection, andshe did not stop to do so now, but she did notice a dustingof freckles across her nose which had not been there inEngland, and she supposed her complexion showed othersigns of her outdoor existence. Certainly her hands weretoo brown and the nails too blunt. It hadn’t depressed herbefore Jackie came.

In Adela's room she again lit a lamp and turned down thesheet. Carefully, she arranged the folds of the diaphanous

white nightdress, and hung the pale green wrap over theback of a chair so that it should be handy. Amazing, thenumber of clothes Jackie and her mother had been able tosqueeze into an air grip.

Rennie was just closing the door behind her when a cardrew up on the road, and she stayed there in the corridor,listening to the voices approaching the porch; Adela’s,Jackie’s, and Kent’s. Now they were in the lounge, all three,their conversation unavoidably clear in this small house withthin dividing walls.

"Everyone seems to have gone to bed," came Jackie'sbubbling tones. "Though Rennie can’t have — she sleepson the couch in the hall."

"In the hall?" from Kent. "Why does she do that?"

"Just while Mother and I are here. The two bedrooms aresmall and have only a single bed each."

"In that case," said Kent, "if you were serious aboutprolonging your stay, you’d better transfer to an hotel. Thatchild works hard enough to deserve a thorough rest atnight."

"To be candid," Adela languidly remarked, "I’d feel more atease in an hotel; I’m used to them, and it's such a boon tobe able to ask for whatever one wants without having towonder if one's being a nuisance. Rennie's a dear girl and

does everything for our comfort, but farms bore me." Ayawn. "It’s been a lovely day, Kent."

"Marvellous," cried Jackie. "I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed

anything so much. Do you play again tomorrow?"

"On Saturday," he said. "Get the Gaynors to come. Renniehas too little fun."

"I’ll try. Au revoir, Kent."

Rennie slipped along to the kitchen and placed Adela'smilk over the primus to boil. She scarcely knew that herteeth were damped together, her hands shaking. Beingpitied did that to Rennie.

She carried Adela's drink to the bedroom, smiledgoodnight, and paused in Jackie's doorway.

"Have a good time, Jac?"

"Perfect." Carelessly, she flung the suit she had worn on tothe bed and pulled a black silk wrap about her. "It was agorgeous day, from beginning to end. Kent’s team won, ofcourse. You'd swoon to watch him play— he and the horseseem to be one. His vitality and strength! The chances hetakes! My heart was pounding with the hoofs."

"What did you do after the match?"

"The polo didn’t finish till six. We drove to Kent’s house —three carloads of us. We had cocktails before we tidied up,took a look round the house and garden before dark, andthen had dinner. Rennie, wouldn’t you love to have a houselike Elands Ridge?"

"I don't know. I’ve only seen it from the road. It’s getting late,Jac."

"Not so very." She sat on the stool, facing Rennie, her hairflying out from the brush. She showed not the slightest traceof weariness. " Adela and I are so taken with your part ofthe world that we’d like to remain here for a week or two.My father hasn't sent the frantic telegram that Adelaconsiders is her due, so she won’t go to him. It soundschildish, but I don’t blame her for teaching him a lesson.Pop’s rather phlegmatic and he can do with it. Even if hedoes telegraph now, she'll make him wait."

"I'm glad we shan’t be losing you for a while, Jac."

"You're a pet. Naturally, we can't park ourselves on youindefinitely — you have your job to do, and can’t spare thecar for our jaunts into town. We might take rooms at theCarlton in Gravenburg — I’m told it’s the best hotel in thedistrict. You could come at the week-ends and we'd haveroaring times together." Impulsively, she added, "Youlooked so pretty and different in evening dress last night —not a bit like a land girl. Remember the sandy-haired man

you danced with towards the end ... not bad looking and agood talker? He was at Kent's today and he asked aboutyou. You see how easy it would be to gather men friends ifyou wanted them. Darling, I wish you would."

"What a subject to get on to at this time of night. I'm goingto bed."

Jac said, "Don't go for a minute. Kent's playing again onSaturday,

and has invited us all. Do come this time."

"I'll think it over. Night-night, Jac"

Rennie didn't think it over. The instant Kent voiced thesuggestion she had made her decision. He could keep hischarity. She'd as good as told him that before. Jackie,having repeated Kent's message, appeared to forget it inthe excitement of exchanging residence at the farm for abalcony room next to her mother's at the Carlton Hotel.

They departed from Mayenga on Saturday morning, Adriandrove them to Gravenburg and explained his late return toRennie.

"They asked me to take them shopping. I've never seenwomen buy so many garments at one go. It wasastounding, I assure you, a piece of education I'd as soonhave missed. When we got back to the hotel the lounge

was crowded and they — the two Catons — began toattract acquaintances like honey draws bees. Chiefly men. Iwas glad to leave."

A week passed. Rennie was back in her own bedroom,revelling in the daintiness she had contrived for Jacqueline,but privately somewhat rueful about the expenditure. Oneway and another the Catons' brief visit to Mayenga Farmhad cost about seventeen pounds and, because of a vaguedisappointment in Jackie, it rankled. Rennie wondered ifher father realized that their total ready cash amounted tosomething under eighty pounds, with the monthly bills still topay, and expensive jute bags for packing the crops yet tobuy. For large-scale farmers, they were in an appallingfinancial position, with no hope of immediate improvement.

After breakfast on Sunday she counted the sacks in theshed and found them entirely inadequate to take theexpected harvest. Hessian, in which to bale cotton ready forthe ginning factory, was unprocurable, and any othermaterial was out of the question on account of cost. Shehated troubling Adrian about such things, especially on aSunday, but it took so long for an order to go through, andthe first picking should start in a few weeks. They reallymust decide how to tackle the problem.

Rennie came out into the air and sneezed from the dustThe sun was ferocious this morning, the sky a purplish,African, blue. Trees hung limp and still, but insects still

chirred happily in the grass. She ran up the steps to thehouse, passed along the stoep to the open French door ofthe lounge, and called:

"Are you there, darling?"

A short pause and a movement within. Then: "Are youaddressing me?" And Kent appeared from the shadowsand actually grinned down into her face.

Rennie cast a quick glance behind her at the drive.

"No," he replied to the unspoken question. "The car isn’tthere. I rode over, and left my horse at the mercy of yourcows in the pasture." He was smiling almost teasingly, andthere was none of the usual hardness in him. In fact hismanner put Rennie on guard, particularly when he queried,"Is ’darling’ your father? I like the way you say it. You colornicely, too."

"Have you seen him?" she asked abruptly.

"I have. He and I are doing a deal in book-lending. He has acouple of first editions I'm keen to read, so I’m beggingthem and leaving half-a-dozen biographies as security. Youmight like to look through them, as well."

"Thank you," politely. "Have you had a drink?"

"No. Adrian suggested one, but switched his attention to

books and left me high and very dry."

The action was so typical of her father that she caught inher lip to stifle a quirk of amusement. It wouldn’t do tounbend too drastically with Kent. She crossed to the smallwine cupboard and opened it,

"Help yourself, won't you."

"The name is Kent," he gently reminded her. "Or don’t you

care for it?"

"It has an English flavor."

"My mother’s maiden name. I’m a third generation SouthAfrican."

"Originally from England?"

"Yes, on both sides."

She acknowledged this piece of information with a slightinclination of the head.

"That doesn’t mean," he said, "that I’m in favor of everythingEnglish. That doggedness you're famed for annoys me, sodoes your brand of pride. And your conceit is phenomenal."

"Conceit!" Mechanically, she accepted the tumbler he thrust

into her hand. "Snobbishness, perhaps, but not conceit."

"Conceit," he repeated, clinking his glass against hers andtaking a pull at it. "You come out here knowing nothing butbook-talk and hearsay about the country, bankruptyourselves to buy a chunk of our land, and settle down toplod through the lean years to the fat ones, for all the worldas if there were no vestige of doubt about the outcome.Only the English would have sufficient conceit to believethemselves capable, with little money and no experience, ofturning raw veld into arable land, and at the same timeexpect to make a living out of it. The devil of it is, you do it!"

"Is your prejudice against the nation or the individual?" shechallenged.

"It isn’t a prejudice; it’s a savage sort of admiration. Onemust hand it to you. You're never dismayed, or if you areyou don’t show it. Your father is a typical example."

Immediately defensive, she said, "I thought you'd have toget down to cases sooner or later. You can’t keep off it, canyou? Why should our farming methods concern you somuch that you have to allude to them every time we meet?"Suddenly fearful, she added in a lower tone, "Have youtalked to my father about it?"

"Not yet, but I've been near doing so once or twice."

She stared straight up at him, the grey eyes wider and

more pleading than she knew. "Please don’t. He’d worry somuch."

"He ought to worry," Kent said brutally. "And worry like hell.Wasn't it his idea that you came here in the first place?"

"It had to originate somewhere, but I was equally asenthusiastic." He was between Rennie and the cabinet, andshe looked from side to side for somewhere to put downher glass.

"Drink it," he said.

Her head tilted at the command, but after a moment sheobeyed and he took the empty glass and held it with hisown, between strong brown hands. The straight blackbrows were divided by a single, determined-looking furrow,and the blue eyes which looked down into hers werepeculiarly penetrating.

"Farming — the way you do it — is gruelling and packedwith perplexities, and you’re damfool enough to try to carrymost of them yourself. I’ll wager your father is totallyunaware of three parts of the set-backs you encounter.Hardly a woman exists who could work seven hundredacres without a man at the back of her. You stood a chancewhile Fourie was with you; he made up for your father's lackof ground knowledge; he could rate the boys in their ownlingo, and get ten times more work out of them than they’ll

ever do for a girl."

"The boys are working very well," she flashed back.

The glasses clanked as Kent shoved them behind him onto a table.

"Yes, they will while you watch them," he conceded. "I’dsooner judge by results. You've made seriousmiscalculations — the cotton was one of them____"

"So you told me before, but the seed is in, and the plantsare growing."

"I'll grant that half of them are making a brave attempt. Ifnothing attacks them they may replace the seed you boughtwith a little over, but you’ll be way down on costs. Whateveryour argument, the battle of the soil is no work for a girl likeyou. You're not built for it, mentally or physically. Don't tellme it's no business of mine what you do. Be matey, andaccept a little help once in a while."

At this point Adrian appeared, one book under his arm andanother open in front of him. His mildly astonished glancemoved from Rennie to Kent.

"This room is vibrating," he commented. "What have youbeen doing?"

Kent's bearing relaxed and he smiled, half-satirically, his

eyes narrowed at Rennie.

"We were at odds about Shakespeare. Your daughter, likethe young, tender thing she is, prefers to believe him a trueRomantic. I contend that he inserted romance into his playsto fill the gallery. He had a shrewd eye to the businessaspect of playwriting."

Adrian was deceived. Thoughtfully, he stroked his chin."Yours is the cynic's view, Kent. To me, Shakespeare's lovescenes have a clear ring to them. Beauty, humor, passion. ..

"And sincerity," put in Rennie. "What about the sonnets?"

"The sonnets," Kent echoed mockingly. " ’Hunting he loved,but love he laughed to scorn’ — till she taught him better.Heigh-ho. Who am I to offer disillusionment?"

After a little further back-chat in similar vein, Adrianenquired if he might have some coffee, and Rennie went tothe kitchen to make it. When she came back Kent and herfather were discussing the two books. She poured thecoffee and listened, inwardly surprised at the obviousfriendliness between the two men — the scholar and theplanter. Watching Kent, she had an odd feeling that the longpale scar beneath his jaw had vanished, or maybe it onlyshowed in moments of tension or anger.

After he had gone, Adrian said, "Kent's agreeable and

interesting, isn't he? It must be comforting to be so sure ofoneself as he is. In small doses, he's quite a tonic."

Kent had been tolerably nice this morning, Rennie privatelyagreed, and he had respected her wish that her fathershould not be treated to a distressing lecture on his owndrawbacks as a farmer. Perhaps he realized that it mightdo heaps more harm than good. If he continued pleasant,Adrian might cautiously revive the subject of the oaksaplings. The farm needed trees so badly, and evenpurchased in bulk lots they were costly. Better to treadwarily, though. Wouldn’t do to give in too readily to a manlike Kent.

C H A P T E R F I V E IN the middle of the following weekJackie came over in a borrowed coupe. Adela, prostratedby the malicious heat of the midsummer sun, was spendingthe afternoon in her hotel bedroom, and Jackie had seizedthe opportunity of a few hours alone.

As it happened, when Jackie drove up Rennie and herfather were taking a quick cup of tea under an old Capechestnut tree in the garden. The coupe was parked on thepath nearby, and Jackie jumped out to greet them.

"Hello, Ren, darling . . . Mr. Gaynor. No tea, thanks. Howare you, Rennie?" The dark eyes darted uncertainly, butJackie was as gay as ever. "Sorry I haven't been overbefore, but it's frightfully difficult, without a car of one’s own.

The time has just flown." As Adrian got up her scarletfinger-tips hovered about his sleeve. "Please! I’ll sit on thegrass."

But Adrian insisted that he had to work to do, and strolledindoors.

Apart from the eternal hot, sweet noise of the insects thegarden was peaceful. Jacqueline turned from briefcontemplation of a yellow and black butterfly on a bunch ofthick foliage. Rennie, faintly perspiring from tea and acouple of hours’ maize grinding, leaned back in her grasschair and studied the expensive, olive-tinted face. Surelythere was never so perfect a bloom as Jackie’s.

"Thank goodness there’s no fear of interruption," Jackieexclaimed, and now she was tense, unsmiling. "Oh, Rennie,I’m in an awful jam — the very worst of my life! You’vesimply got to help me."

"Why, Jac!" Rennie cried incredulously. "What is it? Ofcourse I'll help you, if I can."

"I knew you would." She gave a relieved sigh, but her eyeswere anxious as she bent towards Rennie and dropped hertones. "Tell me something, Ren. Have you ever beenindiscreet — not naughty, just indiscreet — with a man? No,of course you haven’t. You’re too modest and reserved.You’d hide your feelings rather than air them. You haven’t

been tempted to scream at stiff-backed old grandparentsand kick over the traces as I have."

"You exaggerate. About this problem of yours. . ."

"Problem! You make it sound prosaic and soluble, but Iwonder if it’s as easy as that? You remember EuniceDesmond, who was at school with us. She left before bothof us and took up pharmacy. Well, when the war ended shecame to live at Kensington and I saw her often, though wewere never very friendly."

Rennie’s brain gyrated. Castledene and Eunice Desmondseemed worlds away from the sultry white heat of Mayenga.

"Eunice? Yes, I remember her."

"I thought you would. Eunice wrote to a brother in the MiddleEast every mail, and sometimes she let me read his letters.I was living with my grandparents, and having a thoroughlymiserable time of it, so occasionally I sought out Euniceand had lunch with her. I was so unhappy. No boyfriends, noletters from abroad . . . not a scrap of fun . . .while other girlswere having the gayest time of their lives. Can you imagineit?"

"So you wore bored and did something you shouldn’t," saidRennie practically. "What was it?"

"You’re so understanding, darling. Eunice was half to

blame. She knew I envied her the letters from her brother,so she got one of his friends out there to write to me . . . aman named Michael Rogers. Michael was lonely, too, andhe wanted a pen friend. So ... so I answered him."

Rennie laughed. "Why so tragic? What’s dreadful aboutthat?"

"We’ve corresponded ever since, though I must admit I feltguilty about it. He sent me a small row of pearls as aChristmas gift just before I left England. I haven’t dared towear them."

"Your mother knows nothing about him?"

"Heavens, no! Michael’s young and good-looking — offairly good family, I believe — but he's just a soldier . . . orwas. He sent me his photograph. Now, he's back inEngland and — what do you think, Rennie! — he wants meto marry him."

"Marry him! That’s going rather far, isn’t it? If you’ve neverseen him you can't be in love with him."

"I told him that in a letter, but he’s the tenacious sort youknow, thickset and shaggy-eyebrowed, and . . . and rathersweet... at least, he looks it. He suggested that we meetbefore deciding definitely about marriage, but I couldn't lethim come to Kensington. I was terrified. Adela and thegrand-parents would have been furious. You see, I must

marry someone with money, and Michael has none."

"Has he threatened you at all? Are you afraid he'll produceyour letters?"

"Oh, no. His face is honest; he wouldn't do that."

"Does he know where you are now?"

Jackie paused. "That's why I’m here this afternoon.Perhaps I was mad, but I wrote him the day we left tellinghim our friendship was over and that I was going to SouthAfrica, probably for good. It seems that eventually he wentto Kensington, and Grandpa, in a moment of aberration,gave him the name of our hotel in Gravenburg. I had a cablefrom Michael yesterday — mercifully Adela was resting.He's coming out!"

"Oh, dear. Can't you stop him?"

"He's on his way. Michael isn’t a soldier any longer — he'sa journalist He says he has an assignment inJohannesburg, whatever that is, but he's coming here first.Rennie, I'm frantic!"

Rennie sat up straight "If he's coming all this way the leastyou can do is to see him, if only for a few minutes. You owehim that."

"I daren't. If Adela meets him there will be an explosion, for

him and for me. She will carry me straight to Cape Town,and I'd hate that, especially just now when everything is sosplendid. Ren, darling, you do see how I'm placed, don'tyou? You'll have to see him and convince him that he and Ican never come together. Please, Rennie, you must do thisfor me."

Rennie sighed. "You're being horribly unfair to him, Jac,particularly if he loves you. After all, you must have led himon a little in your letters."

"Only a very little — I was afraid to go too far." Jackiesparkled with a new emotion. "But I hadn't met Kent then."

A curious dryness came into Rennie's throat. After a fewseconds she asked, "Does Kent already mean a lot toyou?"

"Yes, darling, he does."

"Are you in love with him?"

"He's all that I adore in a man." Jac's mouth pursedecstatically. "He's ruthless yet chivalrous, he rides like ademon, he's charming."

"Do you meet him often?"

"Adela and I go to the Pinetree Club most nights, andKent’s a member and often there. We've been to dinner at

Elands Ridge three times, and have an invitation to the polonext Saturday, Ren," she reached over and excitedly shookRennie’s wrist "Wonderful things are just beginningbetween Kent and me. He likes me; I’m sure of it. A manwho has known him for years told me that he has nevertaken interest in any particular woman before. If that stupidMichael bursts in now he’ll spoil everything."

"I suppose your mother considers Kent a good match?""Why, naturally. Kent has enough worldly goods to satisfyeven Adela, and she dotes on the way he treats her. That’swhy she’s consented to remain in Gravenburg." Swiftly, shesnapped open her bag and drew out a small bulkyenvelope, which she tossed into Rennie’s lap. "Those areMichael’s pearls — nothing expensive but nicely graded.I’m glad now that I didn’t wear them. Your task will be easierif you return them to him when he comes — make it morefinal. His cable said he’d booked at Greenwood’s Hotel."

With some reluctance Rennie slipped the packet into herdress pocket. She had a trapped feeling. "How soon is helikely to arrive in Gravenburg?"

Jackie, merry with enormous relief, did some quickreckoning. "Tomorrow at the earliest, but maybe not for afew days. Some plane services take longer than others. I’llwrite him a note at Greenwood’s begging him to contactyou by messenger at once."

"I’m still unsure how to deal with him. It’s so shabby. . ."

"Not at all. I didn’t ask him to chase out here. Be firm withhim. Explain to him the horrid situation he's landed me in,and how dangerous he has made it for both of us. Tell himto go on to his assignment. The sooner he forgets our sillypen-friendship the better."

"I’ll try."

"Ren, you precious angel, I shall be in your debt forever."And Jackie demonstrated the extent of her immediategratitude with a hug and a hearty, girlish kiss.

Soon, she hurried to the coupe and sped away, cheerilyflipping her fingers through the window as she took thebend out to the track. Watching the dust settle again,Rennie thought that this harmless affair fraught with perilwas typical of light-hearted Jackie. Rennie didn't know howshe was going to tackle the impecunious Michael, nor wasshe sure that Jackie deserved to be delivered from acollision with the young man. But Jackie was the type to sailthrough difficulties on another’s shoulders and manage tomake life just as lively for her victim as for herself. Rennieshrugged unhappily.

So Kent was at last stirred to pay attentions to a woman.Was Jackie the explanation of his softer mood last Sundaymorning? Rennie told herself that she ought to be overjoyed

at the eventual possibility of having her girlhood companionas a permanent neighbor; but for some reason the pictureof Jackie as mistress at Elands Ridge was distinctlydistasteful.

However, the other business, with Michael, had moreimmediate importance.

Adrian must know nothing of the matter, for he was capableof considerable wrath if he thought Rennie was beingmisused. He would advocate leaving Jackie to stew in themess of her own making, and he wouldn’t care too deeply ifshe came to grief. In his opinion she would have asked forit.

For two days Rennie hardly dared venture from the houseand sheds, though she had to fabricate reasons why herfather should drive out to the maize and cotton fields. OnFriday afternoon the messenger came, a seedy-lookingnative who told Rennie that he must take back a reply or thebaas in town would not pay his tip. The message, scrawledin a thick round hand on Greenwood’s Hotel notepaper,was uncompromisingly brief.

"Dear Miss Gaynor, Five minutes ago I arrived fromEngland to find Jacqueline’s note asking me to contact you.Well, here I am. Please put me wise to the next step in thismelodrama. Michael Rogers."

Rennie’s breathing hastened rather alarmingly. The timewas four-thirty. It would take at least two hours to bathe andchange, prepare Adrian’s evening meal and drive intoGravenburg. She turned over the sheet of paper and wrote:"I’ll come to the vestibule of your hotel at about six-thirty.Don’t get in touch with Jacqueline till we have met." ToAdrian she later explained, "I had a note from a friend ofJackie’s — someone from England. They’ve asked me totown for an hour or two. Do you mind?"

"Glad for you, my dear, but don't drive back alone in thedark."

That, Rennie decided, could be worked out when the timecame. Quite a lot was bound to happen between now andthen, and her immediate needs were cold-blooded courageand an understanding smile. She slipped into the car andstarted off.

Supposing Michael were one of those blustering youngmen who wouldn’t listen to reason? He soundedpugnacious and

quite sure of what he wanted. Bother Jac and her "jams."Even at school they had always been silver-lined.Everything always came right for Jacqueline. Which broughtKent to Rennie’s mind; would he, too, "come right" forJackie?

Rennie drove into the older part of the town, turned a cornerand came to rest outside the archaic structure known asGreenwood’s Hotel. It was the sort of building that mighthave been conceived in the days when Gravenburg was aspatter of wooden shacks close to the river. She had neverbeen inside it, though she knew it by reputation as slightlybehind the times and favored, because of reasonableterms, for masonic dinners and board meetings. Well, heregoes, thought Rennie, taking a deep breath, and shewalked up the paved path between two borders of dried-upzinnias, mounted a few wide, flat steps, and entered thedim lounge-hall.

At first it seemed as though the place were completelydeserted. Tapestry chairs were set at the wine tables, along, low couch against each wall. In the farthest corner abar was ready for the evening trade, but had no attendant.The whole building was eerily quiet.

Rennie had just realized that a reception desk existed in anovel position at one side behind the main doors, whensomething very tangible touched her shoulder.

She turned with a start, and looked into a square youngface surmounted by unmistakable shaggy eyebrows and athatch of slightly wavy, straw-colored hair.

"What an uncanny meeting," she said breathlessly. "Areyou Michael?"

"I am. How do you do, Rennie Gaynor?"

She surveyed the lounge, her expression a trifle haunted."Where can we go to talk?"

"This is rather morgue-ish, isn’t it? The other rooms arehardly better. You’re familiar with this town — what do yousuggest?"

"There are one or two restaurants____"

"Or the Carlton Hotel," he pointedly remarked.

"Oh, no. The Carlton’s out," she said hastily. "Shall we justwalk?"

"There’s no hope of seeing Jacqueline tonight?"

"None at all, I’m afraid. That’s one of the things I have toexplain to you."

Michael was apparently acquainted with this particulardisappointment. His shoulders lifted, resignedly. "All right.Let’s

make the best of it and have dinner somewhere."

As they went out into the gold-dusted evening, Rennie hadcompassion for the man at her side. He so obviouslydisliked the idea of discussing Jacqueline with a strange

girl, but he was too eager for news of her to ignore thischance of the latest information. She wished he would askquestions, so that she could unburden at once and savehim the bother of being conventional and attentive. But heplodded along with her like a nice bull mastiff, and shehadn't the heart to break the silence.

"What about this place?" he said suddenly.

It was Gravenburg's other club, less sporting than thePinetree, but just as expensive. Several cars were parkedon one side of the drive, and people in every kind of dresswere taking drinks on the terrace.

"You can get the same sort of meal at a restaurant for halfthe price," she mentioned.

"To blazes with the expense. This is my first evening inSouth Africa." As a bitter afterthought he added, "I'm luckyto have a girl to share it with me. Come along in."

They did not linger to take an aperitif, but told the Europeanhead waiter that they wished to have dinner at once. Heseated them at a table besides a glass-veneered anddetailed one of the white-coated, black-skinned boys toserve them.

Michael ordered, and requested a bottle of wine — a goodwine, he insisted, with a kick in it. He waited till he had hada drink before throwing back his head and meeting her

gaze over the table.

"I'm fortified," he said. "Tell me about Jackie."

"Jackie," repeated Rennie carefully. "Try not to be hurtabout this. Jackie can’t see you, tonight or at any othertime. She wants you to consider whatever existed betweenyou at an end."

"She said as much in a letter at Christmas. I demandreasons, good solid ones."

"Jackie has them. You haven’t even met each other. It’s somuch easier to break now."

"Has she told you that I asked her to marry me?"

Rennie nodded. "Now that we’re acquainted I'm a bitsurprised. You don't look the kind to write a proposal to agirl you don’t know."

"I'm not!" he said with vehemence. "I never proposedbefore in my life, and I never shall again, except to Jackie.You say I don’t know her. If you'd seen her letters. . . ."Embarrassment made him stutter and he tried again."When you correspond regularly for two or three years, aswe did, you learn lots of things about a girl . . . the littlethings that make up character. I gathered that she wasfastidious and dainty, full of spirit — perhaps a wee bitselfish, but who isn’t? To read one of her letters was like

taking a dip in a warm but turbulent stream. They kept megoing when everything was drab and monotonous. I didn'tidealize her — I’m too bedrock for that — but I suppose I fellfor the personality which was revealed in her letters."

Without much appetite she took some of the soup andpopped a pellet of bread into her mouth.

"I do realize that, but Jac can't marry you," she told him."She was brought up in an atmosphere of luxury and shewould expect to go on that way, after marriage. She'salways had whatever she wanted, never been compelled toearn her own living."

"My wife wouldn’t need to work!" he said.

"Her parents are ignorant of your existence. They aredetermined that she shall marry a man of substance, whocan provide her with the lovely clothes and easy way ofliving to which she's accustomed. Surely you can see theirviewpoint?"

"Jackie’s a free spirit. She wouldn’t be bound by suchantiquated nonsense. I'm a good journalist — someday Ihope to produce a best-selling novel. Good heavens, whatdo they expect of a man of twenty-seven who's spent fiveyears in the army!"

Rennie forbore to reiterate that he was not even a name tothe Caton parents.

Low-voiced, she stated, "You've missed out somethingrather important. You believe you're in love with her, but shehasn’t the same illusion about you. As a matter of fact" —the odd dryness came back into Rennie’s throat — "she’sin love with someone else."

Quietly Michael placed his fish knife and fork beside theremainder of his sole meuniere. He swallowed hard on thelast mouthful and gulped the rest of his wine. Not daring tolook at him, Rennie drew figures on the tablecloth with herfingernail. This was almost worse than she had anticipated.

In an adjoining room a band was playing La Paloma, andsome of the early diners were already passing through theelegant archway and preparing to dance. Rennie watchedthem through a haze, and wondered if Michael would everspeak again.

"I'm sorry," Rennie whispered.

"Have your dinner," he answered miserably. "You might as

well — it'll have to be paid for."

But Rennie couldn't eat. She was angry with Jackie formaking this nice young man so wretched, and conscious ofa private, inexplicable ache.

"If you like." she said quietly, "we'll go now."

"Yes." He beckoned for the bill. "You can tell Jackie that I ...do realize how it is, that I wish her to be happy. I'll get awayto Johannesburg tomorrow."

He stood aside to let her pass, and followed her to thedoor. The eight o'clock dinners were crowding in, andRennie drew back while the laughing, noisy couplesscattered. A group of four hesitated nearby.

A man said, "Johannes! Did you reserve my table?"Rennie's heart turned, and for an instant her whole bodyceased to function. Kent, dark and incredibly handsome ina white dinner jacket, was addressing the head waiter. Withhim were another man, Adela Caton, and brilliant, scarlet-sheathed, fur-caped Jacqueline.

Michael said thickly, "Ye gods! She's glorious."

Before Rennie could budge, Kent's head had swerved andhe saw her. After a blank second he bowed and took thepace that divided them.

"My young neighbor," he observed conversationally. "Howpleasant. So you do dine out occasionally?"

Adela drawled, "Good evening, Rennie."

And here was Jackie, her smile bright as a diamond, herglance immovably on Rennie. "Hello, darling. How lovely to

see you in town."

Kent introduced the other man, and Rennie, her nervesfluttering, did the same with Michael Rogers.

"A friend from England," she tacked on, "He arrived onlytoday."

"Today?" The black brows lifted a fraction. "You lost notime in getting together. Have you had dinner?"

"Thank you, yes. We're just going. My father expects mehome soon."

"A pity. Perhaps you'll both come over to Elands Ridge oneevening next week?"

Kent's tone was baffling, meant she thought, to put distancebetween them. But the moment was too fraught with mixedagonies for Rennie to stop and analyze inflictions andhidden

stabs. Michael still stood as though turned to stone.

"Don’t you patronize the Pinetree anymore?" shedesperately inquired.

"The Pinetree," Kent kindly explained, "is under repair.Much to Jacqueline’s annoyance the excessive drynesshas dangerously cracked the ceiling of the ballroom. So we

have come here ... to eat and fill the hours till midnight withdancing."

Kent detested dancing . . . except with Jackie. Renniemanaged a cheerful smile.

"We’ll go now. Coming, Michael?"

Three minutes later they were out in the cool, dark night,walking together through a channel of fatal quietude.

CHAPTER SIX "IS he the man?" Michael asked at last.

She nodded soberly. "Perhaps it’s as well that you sawthem together."

"But she's even more adorable than I imagined," heexclaimed. "I couldn’t believe it. I’m not going toJohannesburg, Rennie. I’m throwing my job and stayinghere. There’s sure to be something I can do to make aliving, and I’m not completely broke."

"It won’t do you any good," said Rennie despondently. "Shedidn’t look at you. You'll only wound yourself if you hang on,hoping."

"She must have money. Isn’t that right?"

"Not only money____"

"While she’s here," he interrupted moodily, "I’m staying."

"Pass up your career for a dream?" she said gently.

"Jackie hasn’t been a dream with me. She’s been besideme for a long time now. I returned to England bent onmarrying her. Well, maybe I'll have her yet."

"How?"

"I don't know. Tonight I can’t think clearly." They hadreached his hotel and she had stopped beside the car."When may I see you again, Rennie?"

"I seldom come to town except for supplies, but you canfind your way out to Mayenga. Do you ride?"

"I'll try anything . . . donkey, camel, ox, or plain horse."

"There’s a riding school at the back of the town. Borrow ahack and come whenever you like." She smiled into thehazel eyes, which were not far above her own. "Promiseyou won’t go back to

that club?"

"I won't," he said. "I've no desire to, after a blow like that. Mystrongest inclination at the moment is to repair to mybedroom with a bottle or two of Scotch. I've never yet gotreally cock-eyed."

She laughed, and swung open the car door. "That's oneway of bearing it, but the effects aren't lasting. Start cookingup a plot for that novel, and when you're stuck, come andsee my father. He’s something of a literary man, too. Goodnight."

Rennie was well over the bridge and racketing along theMayenga trail when she remembered that Jackie’s pearlswere still in her bag. She would hand them to Michael nexttime they met She felt there was pretty sure to be a nexttime.

Next morning she gave her father a few details aboutMichael Rogers, shirring over Jackie’s connection with theyoung journalist. Without having to lie she made it appearas though Michael was subjugated by the sunny climateand willing to work in Gravenburg, at least for a time. Thefact that the young man was a writer pushed other detailsabout him into the background.

"A novel, eh?" said Adrian, rubbing his hands. I’m glad youinvited him to Mayenga, Rennie. We should have someinteresting chats."

Rennie went off to the dairy thinking how impossibly tranquilthe days had seemed before the advent of Jackie Caton.

Mid-morning she came back for a cup of tea, and,discovering that Adrian had gone to town and guessing that

he would probably lunch with Mr. Morgan, the bookseller,she packed some biscuits and fruit and set out on Paddyfor the river.

Strictly speaking, she was pleasure-bound, though herfather always insisted that anything to adorn the house orgarden was equally as necessary as the mealies in thefields. He averred that it was not only a pleasure but adownright duty to have as much prettiness and aestheticbeauty about one as one could afford. Still, in Rennie’s ownjudgment, a trip up-river to gather ferns and rock plants wasdefinitely non-productive. But this was, after all, the week-end, and she was much in need of recreation and solitude.

It must be all of a year since she and her father hadcamped for a night in those spicy-smelling woods acrossthe river. They had come upon the primitive bridgecomposed of logs and laced vines constructed many yearsago by some unsung pioneer, left the car in the bush andcarried their equipment and supplies over the river and intothe forest. The following morning they had trekked betweenthe reddish twisted trunks, emerged from the forest, andreached a corner of paradise. Rennie meant to find thatspot again, but this time on Paddy’s back. That way itwould not take so long.

Just as unexpectedly as before, she found the bridge, andPaddy warily trod the swaying logs, letting out more thanone scared whinny before pawing the hard ground on the

farther bank.

Rennie dismounted. There was an arrested look about thisplace, as though time and locality were suspended inspace. Trees pressed in, doves cooing in their tops, andthe sharp chatter of monkeys came from the lowerbranches. In such a haven one might witness any ofnature’s miracles without astonishment.

Rennie ate an apple, a banana, and a few biscuits, andscolded herself for bringing nothing to drink. The sound ofPaddy placidly lapping at the Lamu was no help, and soonshe was in the saddle again, weaving unerringly towardsthe ridge of rocks beyond the forest.

She had come out of the trees and was shading her eyes totake her bearings when a native galloped up, astride adonkey. From a distance of a dozen yards he clicked along sentence at her. In order that he should not considerthis effort wasted, Rennie assumed an expression ofexaggerated bewilderment. The boy tried again, withgestures but hardly more intelligibly, and Rennie had toshrug and smile non-comprehension.

The donkey was whipped round, bare heels dug its flanks,and both disappeared with unbelievable and undignifiedspeed into the trees. Rennie supposed that the boy hadbeen begging, but as she had nothing to give their lack ofmeans of communication mattered hardly at all.

At the foot of the rocks she let Paddy roam, and began toclamber up to the high ledge where rock-daisies and pinksgrew in warm-toned profusion. Drawing herself on to theshelf, the musky scent of crushed myrtle in her nostrils, shesoaked in the scene it had hidden.

Precipitately, an almost complete circle of jagged stoneoutcrop dropped about seventy feet, cradling a perfectnatural rock garden which dipped to a green satin lake.Scarcely a ripple disturbed the water. The whole scene wasenveloped in a strange, sub-tropical hush.

Presently, Rennie crawled over the ledge and loweredherself from boulder to boulder. In a cleft she discovered aplant with long wide rubbery leaves, one of which shesnicked clean at soil level with the clasp-knife she hadbrought. Upon this cool, succulent bed she laid the smallportions of root cut neatly from each of the floweringbalsams. Carefully she raked back the soil where the rootshad been exposed, and firmed it with the flat of her hand.

It was a tender, absorbing task, full of small del"There’s nothing you can tell me that I haven’t thOn Monday they slipped back into the new leisurely

It was a tender, absorbing task, full of small delights. Whena stone rattled down the rocks she did not at once look up,but it was impossible to ignore the quick leaps with whichKent landed level with her.

A breeze teased the tawny hair at her temples and lifted thesoft silk collar of her shirt. The grey eyes she raised to himwere tinged with the mystic green of the water; her cheekswere flushed with bending, her lips red and slightly parted,as though eager to impart a sweet secret.

His glance roved her face, and the ironic twist at his mouthgradually smoothed out. Whatever mockery he was on thepoint of uttering he left unspoken. He looked down at thetiny blue starflowers held so gently in her hands, and backto the graceful curve of her cheek. "Pretty," he murmured."So you’re the trespasser."

"Am I?"

"The police-boy doesn’t know you, so he came to me. Hehas to patrol the woods in case of fire. He saw in you apotential incendiarist."

"Are they yours — those trees?"

"Yes. I haven't got round to clearing them yet."

"Clearing them. Oh!"

"Would you rather I left them as they are?"

"I haven't the right. . . . "

"Don't hedge. Would you?"

"Well, I ... no, I wouldn’t."

"Why?" he persisted.

She hesitated. "Because . . . well, you see. . ."

"Because," he said for her, "now that you know the forest ison my land you'll take good care never to ride through itagain. Am I right?"

Her bent head answered him.

"Damn your stubbornness! One of these days, my child, I'llshock you out of it."

She had to smile at the angry humor in his tone.

"You jump on me before I have a chance to speak. Onedoesn’t go tramping over other people’s property without

permission, not in England, anyway. Where’s yourboundary?"

He nodded towards the opposite rim of rocks. "About half a

mile up."

Involuntarily, Rennie’s hand went out to indicate the still lakeand the immense flowered bowl in which they stood. Bluepetals showered from her fingers.

"Then this, too, belongs to you?"

"It happens, quite by an accident of measurement, to beincluded with the plantation," he said crisply. "Does the factlessen your joy in the place? Would you like to hurl theplant-cuttings back at me?" He leaned towards her, hisvoice cool and deliberate. "If you do, little one, I'll make youwish to heaven you hadn’t."

He meant it, too; Rennie was aware of that. She laughed alittle shyly and surveyed the lake.

"Can you bathe in it?"

"Not without risk of bilharzia or some other fever. One ofthese days I’ll have it cleaned out and made safe forbathing, and some convenient steps could be hacked out ofthe rocks. I’ll shove up a thatched summer-house near thewoods and camp here at weekends. Do you likecamping?"

"My father and I spent a night back there once — beforeyou came. It was heavenly. I regretted afterwards that wedidn't climb those rocks on the other side of the lake to see

what lay beyond."

Kent said, "It’s worth the bother. We’ll climb them now."

"But it’s Saturday. You’re playing polo."

"Not till five," he replied carelessly. "Follow me round to thatclump of karri. Leave the plants. We'll collect them on theway back.

It took twenty minutes to scale the ridge, Kent finding thefootholds and Rennie obediently extending a hand to behelped whenever he demanded it. For the final few yardshe leaned down, grasped her firmly beneath the armpitsand unceremoniously hauled her to the flat summit of theoutcrop. She had to get her breath before attempting totake in the vista which lay below.

A green slope, a grove of dome palms with slender, hairytrunks, the distant conical outlines of a native village, andbehind them a gradual rise of massive, pristine boulders toa skyline so clear and limpid that one knew instinctively onewas facing the east.

Kent was standing with his hands in his pockets, quizzingdown at her.

"Like it?"

"It's so innocent," she said. "It looks as if no one ever

comes here."

"Innocent!" The adjective amused him. "Innocence is not anabsolute quality; it's comparative. Youth and innocencedon't necessarily go together. Take yourself and JacquelineCaton." Casually he dug into his jacket pocket for hiscigarette-case. "You and she are much of an age; you wentto school together, had the same friends, and shared thesame sort of experiences. Cigarette?"

"No, thanks." She wanted him to go on.

He scraped a match and puffed, meditatively. "You wereborn innocent, but she came into the world primed withquite a large proportion of the answers. Her sophisticationis natural, inherent."

"And I . . . haven't any."

He smiled. "Not much, but don't let it get you. Some man isgoing to have a whale of a time putting you wise." Amoment's reflection. "Does the fair young Englishman aimto become a permanent resident in this district?"

"Michael Rogers? I don't know, but I shouldn’t think so. He'sjust here for a while."

"Bring him over to dinner on Monday and ask your fatheralong. You haven't seen my house yet." He slipped back hiscuff. "Nearly four, I'm afraid. I shall have to collect my kit and

change at the field. Shall we move?"

Without haste he led the way back to where her cuttings layhidden from the sun. He caught the bundle into the crook ofone arm and took a firm hold just above her elbow whilethey sprang the terraces of rocks, up from the lake anddown to the veld where Paddy and a hefty black horse weregrazing. With ease he hoisted Rennie into the saddle.

Kent rode with her through the woods, sweeping theoverhanging branches from her path as they went. Ignoringher protests at the waste of his time, he crossed the riverand accompanied her inside the Mayenga boundary. Whenthey stopped, his keen eyes examined the meagre bolls ofsoiled white cotton. Wordlessly he swung over his leg andstrode among the plants. His demeanor was suddenlyfrightening.

Rennie slid to the ground. The afternoon's sweetness wasswamped in fear. She remained close to Paddy till Kentcame back, his features angular and grim.

"The cotton’s finished," he said. "Nearly every plant isinfected."

Cold to the lips, she responded, "So it’s failed. Well, youtold me it would so I was prepared. I’ll have it destroyed andthe soil turned. You’ll be late for the polo. Goodbye."

She was up on Paddy and away. She didn’t hear his oath,

nor witness the violence with which he regained the saddleand twisted the black horse towards home.

"We weren’t counting on the cotton, were we?" said Adrianreasonably, half an hour later. "Maize is still our main cropand there’s no sign of stalk-borer this year. Anything overeight bags to the acre will offset other losses, and I think weare certain to reap quite a bit more than that."

"The tops are yellowing."

"That's not significant, my dear," he smiled. "You’ll see adifference as soon as the rain comes. Don't let the cottonfailure disturb you. It’s only about a sixth of our acreage."

Rennie was still trembling from the mad ride home. For thefirst time she was exasperated by her father's composurein the face of calamity.

"Since paying the January bills," she said, "we have lessthan thirty pounds in the bank, and there are still the bags topay for."

"Thirty pounds certainly won’t take us far. Let’s get down toit," he said, extracting a sheet of paper from the writing-table drawer. "For the next three months we’ll cut right to thebone."

She pulled a chair forward beside his, and prompted himas he wrote down the items of expenditure. The length of

the list amazed him.

"Apparently," he commented, when it was complete, "we’redown to the minimum in the farm expense. The butchertakes a large percentage of the household money."

"And petrol," submitted Rennie. "At half-a-crown or more agallon, it means a pound note every time we fill up. Thepoor old car does so few miles to the gallon."

"We won’t use it," declared Adrian. "Why shouldn’t thestores deliver our supplies? We’re regular customers.We’ve bought weekly, but what’s to stop our sending astanding order to be delivered on the first of each month?That shouldn’t be asking too much of them."

"There’s the butter to go out each week."

"So there is." Adrian pondered. "That provision merchantpays a fair price and takes our few surplus eggs into thebargain. We mustn’t lose him."

It was finally decided to make one weekly journey intoGravenburg and to resist all temptations to use the car forjaunts. Adrian would buy no books, nor would he refill thewine cupboard. There was still some whisky and sherryshould a visitor come their way, and what they couldn’tafford must be deemed unnecessary.

Rennie didn’t mind economizing still further, but she was

afraid that the small reductions mentioned by her fatherwould not for long stave off complete insolvency. No goodwishing they had planted early potatoes for the market; or aquick-growing variety of soya beans. Too late for regrets.They simply had to wait, and hope for the rain which wouldsend new life coursing into the crops.

Repeatedly, her thoughts went back over the afternoon:Kent s friendliness and the care with which he had carriedher cuttings and attached them to Paddy's harness. Almostas if it pleased him that she should have wanted them forher garden and taken so much trouble to collect them.

How swiftly he had changed from the arrogant horsemanscoffing at her girlish habit of whispering endearments tothe gelding, into a thin-lipped planter, infuriated at her poorfarming. Just when she was beginning to wonder whetherKent wasn’t human and exciting . . . and very dangerous, hehad exhibited that other, masterful, overbearing facet of hiscomplex personality.

For the long moment of fear when, close to Paddy's warmflanks, she had braced herself for the verdict, she hadknown a queer little yearning for Kent's praise. But hehadn’t noticed the widened channels, the weed-free earthbetween the rows. All he’d seen were the beastly insectsdespoiling the bolls, and he’d blamed her for them: thekapok trees that she would not order to be felled.

Rennie would have liked to shed a few of the tears thatblocked her throat, but to weep was an acknowledgment ofdefeat, and she was by no means vanquished. But for Kent,she would have accepted the minor tragedy with her usualphilosophy, and learned a lesson from it. His anger calledforth a taut defiance in Rennie. How glad she was that sheand Adrian had never taken advantage of his magnanimity.Perhaps, after her abrupt departure this afternoon, hewould decide to leave Mayenga to its fate. She hoped so;farming apart, he was beginning to complicate

her hitherto calm existence. It didn't do to speculate abouthim.

Having come to which conclusion, Rennie spent all eveningfull of unhappy conjecture, which persisted through herdreams and was still with her when she awoke nextmorning. As she had rather thought he might, it beingSunday, Michael Rogers rode over during the morning on aribby-looking mare from the riding stables. In slacks and asweater, his fair hair risen with the wind, he had a morecheerful and carefree appearance. He actually laughed hisgreeting at Rennie, in rueful recognition or all that she knewabout him.

For a few minutes they walked together in the garden.

"I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since we met on Friday,"he plunged. "I'm going to work without being any more

morbid over Jackie than I can help. I've got an idea for mynovel — a good one, but it will mean a heap of researchand terrific concentration." Quite simply he added, "It's gotto be a best-seller, or I'm sunk."

"It sounds all right, but are first novels ever best-sellers?"she asked anxiously.

"This one has to be. As it happens, I'm not a completebeginner. I wrote a book about modern Egypt while I was inthe army, and was offered a journalistic career on thestrength of it, so others believe there's something in me thatought to come out. This novel will be much more vast andcompelling. A family saga with South African history of thepast fifty years as a background."

"One of those chunky novels that sell in millions." "Am I

being too ambitious?"

"You're new to the country, but that’s no drawback. In fact, itmight tend to add freshness to the descriptive passages.My father will lend you books on the subject. Come in andspeak to him."

When Michael was presented, Adrian beamed, put on hisglasses and led the young man to the bookshelves. For twohours the men talked, and when Rennie came in to say thatlunch was ready, Michael looked ashamed and contrite.

"I say, I shouldn't have stolen your morning like this.

Your father's interest made me forget the time completely. Iassure you it wasn't my intention to invite myself to lunch. Idon't want to be a nuisance."

"You're not, my dear boy," said Adrian cordially. "Thisprojected novel of yours intrigues me enormously, and Ireally believe I can help you."

"It's very kind of you, Mr. Gaynor." Michael held open thedoor for the other two to pass through to the dining room. "IfI could encroach on your time for a couple of hours one daya week____"

"I understood you were in a hurry," broke in Adrian withexuberance. "Come often, Michael. Pity you haven't a car. Ifyou had you could ride over every day and work there in thelounge. I find it a helpful atmosphere, particularly as theview from the window is so good. Green is an excellent aidto concentration."

How like him, worried Rennie despairingly, to forget theirstraits so soon. He didn’t realize that every time Michaelcame there would not only be an extra meal to provide, butthe table must not appear frugal.

Michael was saying, "It is quiet here. I've been wonderinghow the dickens I shall write at the hotel. If I were a genius Icould work by candlelight in an attic, but being an ordinary

young man with a flair and not much else, I'm susceptible tonoises and other disturbances." His hazel eyes soughtRennie's. "You don't know anyone who'd find me a flat, doyou? I can't run to a big rental."

She shook her head but said jestingly, "If we had a spareroom you could move in with us."

"I wish you meant it!"

For a startled second Rennie stared. A paying guest? Asmall, regular monthly sum to help meet the householdbills? There seemed to be a great deal in favor of it "But wehaven't a spare room," she said.

His mouth humorous, Adrian remarked, "I’ve slept on thestoep . . . why shouldn't Michael ? He can use my room as adressing-room. As a matter of fact, you've come at the righttime, old chap. We've just learned that our cotton has bugsand won't bring in a penny, and for the next two or threemonths we shall be hard pressed. You wouldn't object toplain farm fare?"

"Gosh, no! I'd love it. Take me on, Rennie. I'll sleepanywhere and pay whatever you ask."

"Our way of living might not suit you," she answered slowly."If you did come, you'd have to have a room to yourself, Icould put the writing-table into the bay window of mybedroom. . . "

"No, I won't allow that," exclaimed Michael. "I’m turning noone out. The nights are warm enough here to sleepoutside."

"And if it rains," suggested Adrian mildly, "there’s the divanin the hall. You're young and healthy. Slight hardshiptoughens one in mind and body, and in any case, you'll thinkbetter for the cool hours in the open air. Have you setyourself a time limit?"

Michael chose to lower his lids and help himself to saladbefore replying: "It's a big job, but once the plan is clear Ihope to complete about fifteen thousand words a week."On an urgent note he ended, "Four months; certainly nolonger."

"A best-seller in four months," commented Adrianthoughtfully. "And why not? A best-seller doesn’t have to, bea masterpiece of prose. Produce two hundred thousandwords of romance and adventure in a colorful environmentand you’ll stand a fair chance with the popular critics.Others have done it

— why shouldn't you make an attempt? You shall work allday, Michael, and I’ll be available in the evenings."

"Sounds dull for Rennie," the young man stated, his tonenevertheless entreating her acquiescence.

"Shall we try it out?" she said, and was rewarded by a flushof gratitude.

When Michael left Mayenga that afternoon, he drove awayin Adrian’s car, leaving his hack to be returned to its stall byone of the farm boys. Next morning he came back in thecar, bringing his belongings and a box of candy for Rennie.

"It's kind of you, Michael, but after this gifts are off," sheseverely informed him. "Let us admit that we’re threeworking people with no cash to spare at the moment. Ifeverything goes well, we’ll celebrate — but that's monthsaway."

"I’ll go flabby without exercise. You'll let me help on the farmsometimes?"

"Why, yes." She gave him a sudden, sweet smile. "As soonas you begin to go stale, come and find one of us, and pitchin."

His glance stayed on her for a second or two before hereplied. "You’re heaven-sent, Rennie, kinder than any girl Iever met — just the sort I ought to have fallen in love with."

"It takes two," she reminded him.

"Don't I know it," he groaned. "Do you mean that I’m wellbelow your taste ... . or aren't you heart-free?"

Of course she was heart-free . . . wasn’t she?

"I suspect, Michael," she told him sternly, "that you arechasing up material for the romantic scenes in your novel.Count me out."

C H A P T E R S E V E N SHE left Michael in possessionof the lounge and went to the kitchen to explain to Georgethat from now on there would be an extra man in the houseand a few more duties for the houseboy. After that she sether teeth and rode up-river to where the boys wereuprooting and burning the cotton in pungent-smellinghillocks. Too late to utilize the soil again this season. It hadbetter be ploughed and lie fallow for a while.

Mortification still ached in her throat. Kent had asked themto dinner this evening, but would he expect them now?Surely not, after the way she had parted from him onSaturday. She couldn't face his silent criticism, and hiscoolness would be even less bearable in his own house.Something about Kent teased her nerves and occasionallystifled her breathing. She felt safer outdoors with him,where she could turn away and take an interest in hersurroundings.

At dinner Michael reported having plotted six substantialchapters of his novel, and afterwards he and Adrian retiredto the lounge for a discussion of the historical facts whichwere to be incorporated in the early part of the story.

Tonight, Rennie's interest in South African history was at anebb; she couldn't care less about Chaka the Terrible or theKaffir wars, and the men's absorption in the dead and gonesomehow grated. Restlessly she moved about the lightedstoep, and presently she went down to the garden andwandered along the path to the gate. Just inside the acaciahedge a honeysuckle bush exuded a heady perfume. Sheplucked a spray and waved it idly under her nose, wild andimpossible desires flitting through her mind.

She must have been there half an hour when a car purredfaintly away towards the stone bridge. Her heart began tothud. Could it be possible that Jackie unaware that Michaelhad moved in at the farm, was coming to offer belatedthanks for Rennie's services last Friday?

The car was fast approaching. As it took the last bend shesaw it, and fifty yards away she recognized Kent's lean,non-committal features above the wheel. A queerweakness had possession of her knees.

He pulled up, got out, and slammed the door.

"Waiting for me?" he queried, with sarcasm. "How nice. Do

you usually ignore invitations to dinner?"

She took a firmer grip on the gate. "Were you reallyexpecting us, after . . . after____"

"After what?" he demanded. "Did I infect your cotton? Am Ito be blamed because I saw the pests before you did? Ihad dinner ready for you this evening. You might have hadthe decency to send me a message."

"I’m so sorry." She had opened the gate. Are you comingin?"

"No," he said decisively, half-turning. "Now that I’m satisfiedyou're all right I’ll go back,"

"Kent!"

He stopped, his hand on the car door, and looked at her.

"Well ?

"I do apologize," she said with a rush. "Don’t hold it againstmy father. He knew nothing of your invitation. I couldn’t tellhim. I . . . you see, the humiliation was too much for me."

"Humiliation?" He came near, rested a forearm on thegatepost and bent his gaze upon her. "What, for heaven'ssake, have you got to be humiliated about? I've told youbefore that cotton is a tricky crop in these parts. I’dprobably make a hash of it myself . . . and you’re a girl,without experience. You hadn’t a chance."

"You were so furious with me."

"Furious, but not with you, you idiot. There have been timeswhen I’ve itched to spank you, but not just then. You werehurt, but you’d have perished rather than show it. Thatblasted pride got the better of you."

"It does . . . sometimes," she admitted shakily. "I wish we’dcome to Elands Ridge this evening."

"It’s not too late."

"My father and Michael are steeped in literature. I doubt if Icould haul them out of it."

"Don’t try. Let them stay steeped for the rest of the evening.I’ll bring you back before they realize you've gone."

"Oh." An unusual note of joy sounded in Rennie’s smalllaugh. "You promise that?"

"I promise nothing, my child. Get in the car and take whatcomes."

Rennie might have hesitated on some pretext, but shedidn’t. She might easily have slipped into the seat besidehis without assistance, but it was good to feel a strong handat her elbow and to smell security in his tobacco-and-tweedfragrance. It was simply that he was man, she assuredherself firmly, and that her spirits

had been low. How comforting to be managed for once.

They were well on the way to Elands Ridge before hespoke again.

"You’ll be glad to know that the rain is coming — the moonhad

a good thick blanket."

"Thank heaven," she said softly.

Elands Ridge had a light in the porch — electric light. Thehouse had also been connected, at a price, to theGravenburg telephone exchange, and somewhere justoutside the garden wall was a camouflaged borehole forwater, from which pipes ran beneath the flower beds to thehouse.

Illumined from the veranda the front appeared exceptionallywhite and imposing, the six great pillars sturdy supportersof an immense upper balcony.

Kent snapped on the hall and lounge lights and struck asmall brass bell which stood beside a red stone Buddha onan occasional table.

"Coffee or a genuine drink?" he asked conversationally.

"Coffee, please."

Rennie took a swift inventory of the room. White walls,

Rennie took a swift inventory of the room. White walls,cream rugs, blue linen chesterfield and chairs, blackwoodtables and stools, a baroque writing-desk and chair, and aspattering of Oriental ornaments. On one wall hung twoportraits in stamped leather, cleverly colored. One was thehaughty head of a Zulu girl; the other showed the face of anolder woman saddened by some nameless grief. Renniewent close to them for a more detailed inspection.

"Who did them?" she inquired.

"A woman — she's well known out here." Kent shifted thebell and perched on the table, his long legs stretched infront of him. "Only a woman could capture thoseexpressions in natives. A man would see them but he'd bestumped for the meaning."

"Pride and Sorrow," she said interestedly.

"You see! It took me all of a week to label them and you didit in a few seconds, and fewer words. The feminine touch."He paused while an ebony-skinned boy in white set thecoffee tray on another table, and placed cigarettes and anautomatic table lighter conveniently near. "All right, Tanu. Ifthe kitchen is clear you may go to bed."

To Rennie he said, "Will you pour the coffee? Sugar andcream for me."

Rennie sat at the table and Kent ranged across to the desk

and back again. Even in this spacious lounge he was bigand compelling. He took his cup and lowered himself to thechesterfield, where he lay back, regarding her quizzically.

"I'm not sure that this isn't pleasanter than having your fatherand the fair young journalist along. It’s some time since Ihad a woman so entirely at my mercy. Aren’t you afraid?"

"Should I be?"

"Unflattering to me if you’re not."

"Not at all. What has a girl to fear from a self-confessedwoman-hater?"

He did not contradict the statement, but stirred his coffeewith some deliberation. "I might decide that this is anexcellent opportunity for teaching you — and all women —a lesson. Hate’s a strong word, don’t you think?" he tackedon.

"To hate women as a whole might mean that I had onceloved one to distraction and been ignominiously jilted.Nothing so soul-rending ever came my way, the stars bepraised!"

"You might be less of a cynic if it had," she countered."Everyone needs to have someone else to share delightswith and worry about. That's half the joy of living. Peoplewho avoid love miss the best in life."

"Is that so?" As though giving this challenge all the attentionit deserved, Kent thoughtfully sipped his coffee, stared intoit, and sipped again. But his tone mocked as he queried,"What's your advice? Shall I look round for a little woman tocherish and fuss over? Can you imagine me as an adoringhusband?"

"No," she said flatly. "I can't. You may marry, but I don'tbelieve you’ll ever let yourself fall in love."

His lazy eyes sharpened. He emptied the cup and ratherforcefully placed it on the wide arm of the chesterfield.

"That's straight from the shoulder, at any rate," he saidtersely, "I like your candor, Rennie; it gets under the skin —well under, like a hypodermic needle. So you've decidedthat I shall marry but will never be devoured by love. I'm tobe spared the tortures of white-hot passion. What a relief!"

His smile was tight but otherwise inexpressive as heleaned forward to slip back the lid of the cigarette box.Rennie knew that somehow she had flicked his ego. Hadshe unwittingly hinted at new, perilous feelings? Was healready in love . . . with Jackie?

And then she noticed the faint but unmistakable depressionof his scar and a pulse began to knock in her temple. Herhands were

unsteady as she took a cigarette and held it to the lighterwhile he worked the catch, and she was grateful for the veilof smoke which momentarily obscured him. For a fewminutes they smoked in silence.

"I saw this morning that you’re clearing the cotton," he saidoffhandedly. "You’re wise to do it so thoroughly. What areyou going to do with the land?"

Thankful for the change of topic, even to such a sore one,she answered, "Leave it to recuperate."

"Will you let me plant it with citrus for you as soon as it’shealthy ?"

She pressed out the half-smoked cigarette. "We’re notenlarging our commitments till after the harvest."

"So it’s no thanks — again. How I abominate your childishindependence. Where does it get you?"

She was torn by the need to make him understand, onceand for all. "Can’t you see how it is?" she cried. "My father’sentirely out of place here — you know that. If the harvest isonly reasonably good he'll be able to make the lecture tourthat he's set his heart on, and be really happy. That's why Iwon't run up debts."

"Who's asking you to?" he said bluntly. Then: "Your fathermentioned the lecture tour to me. Will you go with him?"

"I don’t suppose so. Expenses for two would be prohibitive.Besides, there's Michael."

Not that Michael would make any difference. He wasmerely an excuse she could offer to Kent.

"Oh, yes," he said. "I'd forgotten Michael. Is he . . .important?"

"He has to be considered. He’s a member of the householdnow."

Kent's voice was metal. "He’s living at the farm?"

"Just for a few months, so that he can work quietly on hisnovel till it’s finished."

Kent gave a short, unpleasant laugh. "So you’ve turnedMayenga into a guest-house — a Bloomsbury in the wilds.Are you camping in the hall again?"

"Michael wouldn’t hear of it. He’s using the sleeping porchand working in the lounge."

"I see — the accommodating sort." There was no mistakingthe growing hostility. "You have quite a reverence for him,haven’t you? Is he picking Adrian’s brain for this world-shaking novel?"

Rennie sprang up, and the next second Kent was standing,too.

"That’s terribly unkind," she said. "Michael’s a writer, agood

one. He's already published one book and he has friends inLondon who will help him. My father thinks he'll be asuccess as a novelist."

"But this story is about South Africa?" he persisted. "Hadhe visited this country before last Friday? No, of course hehadn't. Where is he going to get his information, then, if notfrom you and your father?" He made a sound of disgust."Haven't you and Adrian enough on your minds just now,without having this fellow steal your time and energies whenyou most need them? You make me tired!"

She quelled an impulse to fling a retort at him, any retort solong as it had a sting in it. Perhaps what she did say hadmore bite than she guessed.

"It’s a pity that we make you tired, but you have a remedy.There’s a river between us. If you like we’ll make a bargain,each to stick to his own side."

"Suits me," he said shortly. "I'll take you home."

Rennie twisted to precede him. They had reached theporch when car-beams raked the drive-way and came to

rest, a pool of brilliance, under the pergola. A small figureslid from the car on to the path, and ran up the steps.Rennie drew back.

"Oh, Kent, thank goodness you’re home."

"Jacqueline! For the love of Mike what’s wrong?"

Jackie was close to him, her dark eyes raised, her dimquivering, and her hand came up to rest urgently upon hissleeve. She hadn’t yet seen Rennie.

"It’s Adela. She’s had another of those fainting fits — likethe one she had here — through the heat. They terrify me,and I haven’t the least notion how to handle them. Kent,darling, please let me have some of those tablets you gaveher. They made her sleep so soundly and she was awfullywell next morning."

"Are you telling me that you drove all this way for a coupleof luminal tablets? You’re crazy, Jackie. Come in and havea drink to still your nerves."

Jackie turned. Her hand fell away from his arm and herexpression altered slightly.

"Why . . . why, hello, Rennie. I didn’t know you ever camehere." Michael rose unbidden between them. "I’ve beenintending to look in to see you, but Adela was unwell. Thisheat wave is merciless, and made me so anxious that I’ve

hardly dared to leave her."

Two big tears welled up, and spilled over just as Kenthanded her the glass. Rennie saw his lip draw in andsuspected that a woman in tears was one of the few thingsthat had him at a disadvantage; especially a woman whocould look so bewitchingly helpless as Jackie.

"There's nothing to weep about," he said. "Women dosometimes

faint with heat, even quite strong ones. You should havestayed with her and called a doctor. Finish the drink and I'llgo back with you."

"Will you really?" she pleaded. "I'd feel so much happier ifyou would. You're like a rock in an emergency, Kent. I don'tknow how I drove here — I felt so horribly shaky and it wasa strange car — one I borrowed. I . . . I don't believe I candrive it again."

Rennie said, "Don't worry, Jac. I'll drive it as far as theMayenga turn. . . ."

"You'll do nothing of the sort," put in Kent. "Jackie'sescaped suicide, but you might not be so lucky. The thingcan stay where it is till tomorrow. Wait a minute. I'll getthose tablets."

Both girls listened to his receding footsteps.

"Rennie," came a tense whisper, "where's Michael?""Staying at Mayenga," Rennie returned coolly. "He stillwants to marry you and he's writing a book which he hopeswill be popular and start him off as a novelist." "Really? Doyou think he has it in him to

write stuff that sells?"

"He has enthusiasm and an object."

"Is he nice, Ren?"

"Why not get to know him and find out?"

"I would if . . . Oh, dear. Here's Kent coming back already.Please don't say anything more about it."

They met him at the door, and all three walked together,past the borrowed car and out on to the grass verge, whereKent's car was parked.

"You two had better get in the back. Rennie can use thisrug, as she hasn't a coat. We'll call at Mayenga and dropher first, and then go on to town." Was there a maliciousnote in his voice as he concluded: "If your mother is fullyrecovered, Jackie, we might slip along to the Pinetree foran hour or so?"

Rennie gathered the rug about her and got well down into

her corner. She felt cold and hot and uncertain in the head,as if she were in for a bout of fever ... or something evenmore devastating.

THE rain came, sheets of it, hammering at the iron roof likea million furies, tumbling about the house and turning thegarden into a lake, from which Rennie's rockery emergedlike numerous small islands draped with seaweed. Prizedplants floated away with the drifting twigs, and a valuablelayer of topsoil washed down the paths and out to the track.Between storms, when the water vanished into the thirstingland and the paths dried, the garden had a panting,scraggy look, as if it were gulping air before the nextonslaught.

There was hardly time to view the wreckage in the vicinity ofthe house before fresh purple billows came up anddischarged their burdens to the mighty fireworks of tropicalthunder and lightning. The drought had broken with avengeance.

The two men were writing happily, Michael breathing lifeinto his characters and creating situations to develop histheme, and Adrian setting down the historical andeconomic facts upon which the story was to be based.Michael said he was able to lift whole long paragraphs fromAdrian's beautifully-written notes, which greatly pleased theolder man. Rennie knew that her father was writing as muchto satisfy an inner need as to hasten the novel into print.

She was glad for him and overjoyed to hear at every mealabout the steady progress both men were making, but shewas more lonely than at any time since the void period justafter her mother’s death when the world had assumed ablank unreality. Events conspired to harass her, too.

At seven o’clock one morning she came into the kitchen tofind the stove cold and still containing yesterday's ashes.Something must have happened to George. At onceRennie lit the primus and set the tin kettle to boil, and forbreakfast she served fruit, steamed eggs and coffee. Ryebiscuits had to take the place of toast.

George's hut, when she hurried there, was empty, the bedmade and the piccaninnies’ mattresses neatly stackedagainst the wall with the two grey blankets on top. It smelledtoo clean to have been used overnight, and she had ahorrid suspicion that George, on whom she relied for somuch, and Sophie, who did the laundry, had succumbed tothe call of the bush. They had lived at Mayenga withoutbreak for fifteen months, which was something of a recordfor pure natives.

George and Sophie would not be so easily replaced, andwith

Adrian absorbed, Rennie would have plenty to do outsidethe house. For three days she cooked and cleaned, did thedairy chores, gave the boys their jobs and rode round

periodically to ensure that they were not slacking. This lastwas the most thankless task of all, for she had no doubt thatthe moment she was out of sight the work diminished.

Then George came back, doleful and half-hearted aboutstaying. Sophie had been complaining for some time thatshe would be ill if she remained much longer away from hernative village. It was not good for a young woman to bedistant from her people; it made her a bad wife. So he hadtaken her and the piccaninnies to her father’s house. Oh,yes, missus, he would work at Mayenga and go home oncea month, but he must have wages. He had never paidSophie’s father the full lobola for his wife, and now the oldman demanded it. . . salt and mealies every month for ayear, and two she-goats into the bargain. George shruggedand sadly dipped his head. It seemed that Rennie was tolose her wash-girl and George would cost her three poundsa month and his food. A depressing blow.

She and George did the household washing between them,but he could not be induced to wield the heavy, old-fashioned flatirons. Once, for a few weeks, he had beenlaundry-boy in an hotel, and he knew such implements asstreamlined electric irons existed. The flat-irons, heated onthe wood stove and needing to be wiped carefully and heldwith a pad, he eyed with loathing and distrust So Rennieadded ironing to her tasks, and battled with an hystericaldesire to rip some of the countless shirts to shreds. Twomen, wearing at least one clean shirt every day! What could

possibly happen next?

It was Michael who noticed that the dog was off-color. Hehad formed the habit of taking a quick walk into the veldeach evening before bed, and Rufus, who had annexedMichael without question, invariably trotted out with him andsedately kept a yard ahead all the way. He was not aparticularly adventurous hound.

That night, Michael was back in ten minutes, leading Rufusby the collar into the light of the lounge.

"The old fellow’s got no life in him and he seems tostagger," he said. "I looked out at the back and his dinner'suntouched. I wonder what's got into him?"

Rennie forgot her aching limbs and slipped on to the floorbeside the recumbent ridgeback.

"He didn't eat much yesterday. I meant to give him apowder this morning, and forgot. Poor Rufus" — shestroked his ears — "I wish you could tell us what's wrong."

"He may have got hold of an old bone," suggested herfather. "Or perhaps it’s the heat"

"But it isn’t so not now the storms are finished, and anyway,he's never minded the heat before."

"He can have a powder tonight and if he’s no better in the

morning, we'll run him in to the vet."

Next morning Rufus looked more normal. He drank milkand waved his tail and slowly walked wherever Renniewent. So she petted him, dosed him again, and left him torest in the shade.

It was a day full of upsets. The boy she occasionally used inthe dairy spoilt several pounds of butter; a note came fromthe provision merchant in town cancelling his standingorder for eggs; after lunch one of the boys hacked a slice offlesh from his thigh with a scythe and had to be driven to thenative hospital the other side of Gravenburg. When Renniegot back there was the meat to cut up and dole oat, themealie meal to be weighed and distributed, and the usualFriday evening round of the outhouses.

She cooked steak for dinner, but was too tired to eat any."You're worrying over the dog," Adrian said severely, "He’shad three condition powders at four-hourly intervals. Wecan’t do more for him."

Remorsefully, for she had again forgotten poor Rufus,Rennie took out the scraps, and found the dog lyingoutstretched, the corrugations of his ribs horribly visible, histongue drooping in the dust. Frightened, she called herfather and Michael, and raised the dog's head for them tosee his swollen eyesockets.

Adrian spoke heavily. "Something uncanny is having a goat him. The vet ought to have seen him today. The morningmay be too late."

"Go indoors, Rennie," said Michael. "We can’t let the oldboy suffer."

"We’ll take him to the vet now," she whispered.

"It won’t do any good."

"It may." She was desperately eager. "I’ll get out the carwhile you wrap him in his rug and carry him down. We mustdo this for him."

So much for their decision to use the car only once a week,on business. First the injured native and now a dying dog.But Rennie didn’t think of that as they raced into town. Thebeloved animal was still breathing, and she had great faithin modern animal medicine. When the car stopped Adrianslipped out first, to make sure that the vet was free. Shortly,he returned.

"He’s there, and willing to examine Rufus right away. Bringhim, will you, Michael? Perhaps you’d better stay where youare, Rennie."

Too spent to argue, even had she preferred to accompanythem, Rennie agreed. There was a nightmarish quality inthe interval between their taking the dog and returning

without him. An outsize moon — the same one that wasyoung on the night of her visit to Elands Ridge — whitenedthe roads and buildings, and tipped with silver-gilt the datepalms which lined this wide, residential thoroughfare. Itcreated a lovely, eerie daylight, with clear- cut shadows.

She could hear natives singing just as they did in the kraalat Mayenga to the pulsing of a drum.

Soon, the men came. Michael sat wordless in the back ofthe car, and Adrian opened Rennie’s door.

"Move over, my dear," he said gently, "I’ll drive."

"What was it?" she asked tonelessly.

"A fever of some kind, through a germ which he probablypicked up down by the river. He wouldn't have got over it.We might have carried him home again, but I thought it bestto pay the two guineas."

Rennie nodded, and turned to look out of the window.People dubbed the English mad because they fussed overdogs and mourned their passing. She must try not togrieve, but she would miss Rufus, his silly stiff tail rotating,and his ecstatic grunts as he made himself comfortable ona lounge rug of an evening. He had become a dearmember of the family.

The week-end dragged. The men collaborated on Sunday

morning and decided to take the rest of the day off, thoughRennie knew they would be at it again after supper. Thenovel was becoming an obsession with both of them.

She had ordered tea on the stoep and was hurriedly gettinginto fresh clothes when a commotion at the front of thehouse drew her to the dining-room window.

Jackie, in a tan silk suit with a white collar and shortsleeves that enhanced her rounded arms, was chattinganimatedly with Adrian while Michael led Adela to a seat inthe shade. Rennie's first reaction was purely thehousewife's: thank heaven she had baked this morning.She flew to her room, smoothed her hair and

powdered her nose; after which she flashed an amendedorder to George, in the kitchen, and got out the best cups.

When she came out, Jackie exclaimed and hugged her.

"You're going to forgive us for not calling before, aren't youRen? We did want to so much. Adela's got over herindisposition, and we're both back in circulation. Darling,it's wonderful to see you again."

For all the world as if she had a further favor to beg, thoughtRennie wryly. But Jac couldn't help being that way. It washer nature.

"Come into the stoep and have some tea," she said.

"We're all English, so we won't object to facing south."

Michael brought out extra chairs and arranged all five in asemicircle round the table, which was pushed against thestoep wall. Adela had an end seat, then came Rennie,Jackie, Michael and Adrian.

"Your simply gorgeous view," cooed Jackie. "Those bigtrees and the green slopes of veld! I do love the country thisside of Gravenburg. It's so lush."

"And not nearly so monotonous as one would imagine,"submitted Adela with approval. "I confess that the summerheat is somewhat overpowering for me, but you youngpeople stand up to it splendidly."

"I don't know," said Michael, assiduously passing cups andoffering biscuits. "I perspire buckets just sitting indoors anddoing nothing more energetic than pushing a pen. It’salmost demoralizing. I wouldn't mind so much if one could fitin a bathe now and then."

"But can't you? Don't you dip in the river?" enquired Jackieblandly, for all the world as if she had never, at any time, putthe same question to Rennie.

"It’s full of weevils and things," he explained carefully.

"Oh, yes," brightly. "Kent told me the same. He doesn'tswim in the river, either. He's lucky. He has a marvellous

natural pool on his land, which is to be cleared and madesafe for bathing."

My pool, thought Rennie, a prickling sensation behind hereyelids. It was sacred no longer. He had taken Jackiethere.

"Have you seen it?" she was driven to ask.

"Not the pool itself, darling — you have to climb and I wasn'tshod for it."

Michael was watching Jackie.

"Kent Bradfield's quite a noise in these parts, isn't he?" hesaid. "A man of property, devilish handsome, great shakeson a horse and, it goes without saying, fatal to women.Makes a fellow like me feel cheap."

"I don't know," observed Adrian with that humorous littlesmile of his. "Kent has literary taste but he hasn't muchimagination — he believes only in tangible commodities.He couldn't write a novel."

Obscurely, Rennie was glad that Kent couldn't write a novel.He wasn't fictitious romance and rose-water, he was of theearth and pungent-smelling horses; he was big and leanand brown, and incredibly strong; to him, literature wasrecreation, nothing more.

Jackie allowed Michael a brief, dazzling glance fromwidened eyes.

"I've heard about your book from Rennie. I do hope it will bea simply staggering success."

"So do I," he said, with quiet emphasis.

Jackie talked of the polo and dancing, and of a perfecttreasure of an Indian tailor who completed clothes to one'sown design within forty-eight hours. She had alsodiscovered the duckiest store, kept by a Malay, where onecould purchase dress and hair ornaments in beaten goldand silver. Michael, it seemed, caused scarcely a ripple inthe gay tenor of her life. After tea, when he casuallysuggested a walk in the garden, Jackie instantly jumped up,but she slipped her hand into Adrian's arm and toted himalong, too.

Left alone with Adela, Rennie relaxed. Now that her attitudehad forced Michael to comprehend precisely where hestood, Jackie was eminently capable of managing him.She would be cool and friendly, as though he were indeeda connection of Rennie's to whom she was graciouslyextending her acquaintanceship.

Daintily, Adela used her napkin.

"You have a good cook-boy, Rennie. This question ofnative servants worries me. How am I going to cope with

them if we set up house in Cape Town?"

"You won't have to. The servants there are trained CapeColoreds, and I've heard that you get them from a registryoffice, complete with testimonials. They have no nativelanguage or customs — they're like half-caste white folk,and quite easy to deal with."

"Is that true? Why couldn't my husband have written to sayso! I've told him in my letters that native servants terrify me."

"If he’s in an hotel he may not know," Rennie defended theabsent Mr. Caton. "You’ll find it much cooler in Cape Town."

"I know," she said with a pathetic sigh, "but it looks as if Ishall have to endure the Transvaal for at least six moreweeks, till Jacqueline’s twenty-first birthday."

"So Jac will be here for her twenty-first?"

"I think so. Her father will come up, and we shall have aparty at the Carlton. At least, I’m hoping her father willcome." Adela's frown hinted at men's stupidity andstubbornness. "You’ll come to the party of course, Rennie,and your father and that nice young Michael as well, if he'sstill here. We shall be posting official invitations in about afortnight to something like sixty guests and we're planningto make the party really spectacular and unforgettable.You'd be amazed at the number of friends we've collectedin town."

Languidly, Adela expanded about her ideas for the event.They might even be able to arrange some outdoor fun bymoonlight. Rennie listened and smiled, and sternly ignoreda small bitter ache of . . . was it envy?

The older woman was saying, "One has to prepare foreverything, though it's possible that Kent won’t agree to allthe publicity of the usual sort of engagement. He’s sodomineering — just what Jackie needs to keep her inorder. It will be an ideal match."

Sudden pain throbbed in Rennie's forehead. "Is . . . isJackie going to marry Kent?"

Adela laughed softly. "It looks like it. I didn't think, the daywe travelled here from Johannesburg, that Jackie wouldfind a husband in this outpost, especially one so attractivein every way. As a matter of fact, it has lifted a weight frommy mind that she should fall in love with someone sosuitable to her type — hardly what I expected of Jackie! Youand she will be neighbors, Rennie, though naturally she’llcome down to Cape Town for holidays. Kent wouldn’t wantto incarcerate her."

How little Adela knew him. The woman Kent married wouldhave to be his wife in every particular; share his work andinterests, be prepared to yield to him her will and herdesires; he wouldn’t tolerate a part-time wife.

"Has he . . . proposed?"

Again Adela emitted the purring laugh. "Can you imagineKent proposing before he’s sure of acceptance? Jackieisn't hurling herself at him, my dear, but there’s no doubt atall that he cares for her a great deal. Whenever he comesto town he seeks her out, and he never looks at or danceswith another woman. She never misses a single Saturdayat the polo. Isn’t all that rather more than significant?"

Rennie supposed it was. She rested back in her chair, ahand on each wicker arm, her shoulders pressed into thecushion. Why should she feel like this — weary andwounded — over Jackie and Kent?

"I'm so certain," Adela confided in lowered tones, "that Ihave written to my husband all about Kent, and asked hisapproval of their engagement. Of course, he can’t dootherwise than approve, but a man likes to feel that he hasbeen consulted____"

Rennie let her prattle on, and presently her father camestrolling up the steps, with Jackie and Michael a few stepsbehind.

Jackie said, "Ren, you look so washed-out, darling. Thesetwo men are wearing you down." "I never see them excepton Sundays," she returned lightly. "Blame the shadows andthe pink frock."

They all went out to the car while Jackie, with completedisregard

for another’s property, had parked in full sunshine on theverge beside the track. The interior was like an oven and agrass snake had curled up on the back seat. Adelascreamed and Jackie went rigid. Michael dragged both ofthem aside and slammed the door. Adrian hurled thesleepy, harmless reptile into the veld and delivered a short,entertaining lecture on snakes and their habits.

Amid laughter that was not altogether mirthful, Jackie droveaway, and Adrian went indoors to take a shower.

Michael had stayed in the garden with Rennie; he stalkedaround, moodily examining the speckled hearts of theorange cannas. It was some minutes before he ended thesilence.

"Since I’ve lived here my perceptive powers havedeveloped to quite a degree," he said. "I've studiedpersonalities — yours and your father’s — and analyzedwhat I could remember of my friends in England. It graduallygrows into a habit, you know."

"What is this leading up to?"

"Who else but Jackie? She’s a mixture, like a cocktail witha sting. Her surface is flighty and not too sincere, but

underneath she’s uncertain and in need of a sense ofsecurity. You can see she's never had one. That mother ofhers!"

"You believe that where Kent and his wide acres areconcerned, it’s the anchor he offers that draws her? You’rewrong, Michael.

Kent Bradfield and Jac were physically attracted right fromthe start."

Michael took up a debating posture, feet apart, a handgesturing. His expression was slightly combative."Enlighten me, Rennie. How deep does physical attractiongo with a woman?"

"It depends on the woman. To Jackie, it might be veryimportant."

"But not to you?"

"Me?"

"Yes, you. Haven’t you ever been attracted by a man’sappearance, the way he looked, or spoke, or somemannerism? You have! I can see it in your eyes."

With an effort she answered carelessly, "You're after copyagain. I won't be a guinea pig, Michael. If such informationis necessary to your fiction, go into town and hunt it up. You

won't find it at Mayenga."

"I might," he grinned. "If you weren't such an oyster. Still, itisn't a bad idea to go gay in Gravenburg once a week.Human nature is a fascinating study, and I can do with alittle more of that kind of education."

One evening during the following week he tried it out; put ona dress suit and used Adrian's car. He came home early,happier for the few hours' change, but rather of the opinionthat the time away from Adrian was wasted; far better if hewere to take his leisure during the daytime, preferably afterlunch. Didn't Adrian agree? Adrian did. So it. becameMichael's practice each Monday and Friday to drive intotown and play tennis at one of the clubs, returning toMayenga between four and five. Though Rennieremonstrated with him, Michael always had the car filled upwith petrol.

"Dash it," he said. "Aren’t I the lucky one to have a car atmy disposal ? I'll sink all my capital in a bus of my own if youwon’t let me pay my way, Rennie."

About Jackie he hardly ever spoke. The next time she andAdela came to Mayenga, Michael appeared for a drink,exchanged politenesses and shortly returned to his desk.Rennie got the impression that his absorption in the peopleof his own creating was ousting his interest in the worldabout him. Which, if somewhat disillusioning after his

protestations regarding Jackie was all to the good.

C H A P T E R N I N E

Adela’s invitation to Jackie’s coming-of-age party arrivedone

Wednesday, about noon. Oddly, with the same batch ofmail came another invitation addressed simply to: "AdrianGaynor and Rennie." Rennie slipped out the deckle-edgedcard printed in navy blue, and scrutinized the badge in onecorner: crossed flags in a lifebuoy, the emblem of the newGravenburg Yachting Cub. The president, none other thantheir old friend Mr. Morgan, the bookseller, requested thepleasure of their company next Saturday at the club’sofficial opening. A single race by floodlight was planned,followed by a buffet and dining in the club. "Dress informal,if possible with a nautical flavor."

Adrian turned the card about in his fingers and said, "Whyshouldn’t we go? I have some white flannels and a blueblazer somewhere, and surely you can fit yourself up withsomething? I believe we’d enjoy it."

The more Rennie thought about it the more the ideaappealed. Perhaps a party at which there was no fear ofmeeting Jackie and her mother would revive her jadedspirit. Certainly it would be good to get away fromMayenga, and old Mr. Morgan was rather a dear and bound

to be hurt if they refused.

Her white linen frock had a conveniently pleated skirt, andtwo waist pockets upon each of which she decided toembroider a blue anchor. Her wardrobe held no jacketsuitable to the occasion, but the nights were warm and shewas accustomed to light clothing and little of it The frockalone would suffice.

It was almost with a thrill of excitement that she dressedand brushed her hair that Saturday evening. The sun haddrawn the rich brown from the silky waves at her templesand replaced it with a soft pale gold which contrastedattractively with her tan. And her eyes had taken on asparkle of anticipation. As she stepped back to surveyherself,

Adrian knocked and came in. He paused beside her,vaguely astonished.

"My word," he said. "What a refreshing pair we look.Wearing a

blazer makes me feel young and foolish again."

Rennie squeezed his arm. "I hope you’ll be able to find theway to this club."

"It’s below the town, so I’m told, on the left bank of theLamu, at its widest stretch. I wonder why we've never

bothered to go so far south?"

"Does it matter just now, darling?" she enquired teasingly."Hadn't we better shout good-bye to Michael and go?"

The club was a white building, corpulently designed toresemble the bows of a ship, with an observation balconybrass-railed like a captain’s bridge, above which floated ablue and white pennant and several hundred yards ofbunting. Except for a lane to the wide entrance, the wholeforecourt was jammed with

masted boats on rollers.

Adrian parked the car among others on the grass, and for aminute he and Rennie stood on the high bank above theriver, watching the yachts, with their small orbs of light foreand aft, skim the mottled river like night moths about tosettle. Shouted banter echoed pleasantly along the water.

A boy at their back said, "Drink, please, baas?" and theyturned to confront a dusky waiter in white cut-away andjaunty cap.

It was unusual and rather exciting to lean against a boatwhile they drank and watch the antics of the yachtsmen.Then Adrian considered it time to seek out Mr. Morgan, butbefore they could enter the bright, noisy club a young manin naval uniform apologetically touched Adrian's sleeve.

"May I ask your name, sir?"

"You may, my boy," replied Adrian genially. "AdrianGaynor."

"Oh, good. Mr. Morgan told me to look for you. He has kepta place for you on the balcony. You'll have a good view ofthe race from there, sir."

"You hear that, Rennie?" said her father. "We’re of thechosen few."

"Only men on the bridge, I'm afraid," the young manexplained hastily. "Mr. Morgan thought your daughter mightlike to go out in one of the boats while the race is on. I'll calla steward to take you up, and escort Miss . . . er . . . Rennieto the landing stage."

"Very kind of you," twinkled Adrian. "Good luck, Rennie."

Alone with her, the young man appeared to fed more atease. He talked a little as he led her back to the riversideand along the splendid new mahogany jetty to where asmall motor launch nosed the piles.

"This is the Silver Streak" he told her. "She belongs to theold man himself. One of his own boys will run her and I thinkyou’ll have company. Oh, yes, there's already someoneelse aboard, so you won't be lonely. Ahoy, there! GiveRennie a hand down, will you?"

Rennie saw the top of a peaked cap and big, navy-cladshoulders. Two long arms were raised and a chin becamevisible, strong and deft. Tremors ran through her. He tookher weight and

swung her down, held her in a vice till the boat ceasedrocking.

"All right?" called her escort. "Dance with me later,Rennie?"

She managed a breathy little, "Yes," and he dashed away.

"What do you know about that?" Kent said softly, dose toher ear. "I was thinking about you less than ten minutesago."

"Were you?" she whispered above the tumult within her. "Inwhat connection?"

"It occurred to me," he said quietly, deliberately, "that if Ihad you alone in some place from which you could notescape, I could undoubtedly make you listen to a lot ofsense — and perhaps a spot of nonsense."

"Some . . . place?" she echoed, fighting in vain to subdue anew and painful rhythm in her heart.

"Such as a boat on dark waters," he elucidated kindly.

"Generous of the old chap to lend me the Silver Streak soreadily, wasn't it? Just like him, too, to send me a fairneighbor for company." Over his shoulder he called firmly,"Cast off, Jacob, we're waiting for no one else. Steer well tothe right of the buoys."

Rennie was still standing. The boat lurched away from thejetty and Kent's arm hauled her tight again, steel across herback. For a long, palpitating moment his fingers bit hardinto her upper arm and his breath was warm and smokyacross her brow. She was possessed by a medley ofinexpressible longings, but underneath lay somethingdeeper and more frightening.

Then like a deluge of icy water on a fevered brow, came thesudden shattering daylight of floodlamps.

Kent's arm dropped. "Take a camp-stool," he said withoutexpression. "You might as well relax for the next fifteenminutes ... till the lights go out again."

The boy had switched off the motor and Rennie wasplunged into a consciousness of the lap and suck of thewater at the sides of the boat, and the cool acridity ofstirred river weeds. The competing white sails, theunintelligible blare of the loud speaker, the men and womencheering from the decks of other launches, meant nothingat all to Rennie. The Silver Streak swayed, and herburdened heart moved with it.

Kent was almost engaged to Jackie, she told herself; solong as she remembered that she was safe. She had beenworking since breakfast and eaten little. Fatigue andhunger must be responsible for the constriction in her chestand the queer leap and lull of her pulses. And the cocktailmight have been more potent than it tasted. But thetremulous pleasure in Kent's nearness could not be

so glibly explained.

He, too, occupied a camp-stool, and negligently leaned hisback against the cabin, a cigarette between his lips, hisimmaculate white-trousered legs crossed, and one footswinging gently from the knee. Superbly calm, he offeredcomments on the drifting white wings and laid an idle beton the favorite.

"Yachting is a leisurely sport," he commented, a smile in hisvoice. "When I’m fifty I shall drop polo and take it up. Itseems to be the natural sequence in these parts. Did youknow that old Mr. Morgan was once a good polo-player?"

"No," she answered mechanically. "Was he?"

"There’s a picture of him complete with horse and stick inthe pavilion at the field, taken when he was my age. Peoplesay I'm like him."

Involuntarily, she laughed at the absurdity of a similarity

between Kent and Mr. Morgan of the rubicund cheeks andwhite whiskers.

"It was worth prevaricating to get a grin out of you," Kentremarked to her averted head. "For one on pleasure bent,you’re much too sober ... or perhaps you’re harking back tothe pact we made a week or two ago? At the moment I’mon your side of the river, but we’ll push into neutral watersmidstream if you’d prefer it."

"The bargain could hardly apply to the whole length of theLamu."

"It might. Depends on the strength of the feud and thecause of it."

"Are we . . . at war?"

"Slightly." He paused. "You disliked me at first sight, didn’tyou?"

"Yes, I did. You went out of your way to antagonize me."

"I deny that," he said, without heat. "Maybe I made no effortto please, but neither did I intend us to be enemies. Haveyou ever speculated how pleasant the past weeks mighthave been if you'd accepted me as a friend from thebeginning?" His feet planted square, he teetered back ontwo legs of the stool. In a curious tone he added, "Of courseyou haven't You’ve been too busy detesting me."

"How ridiculous," Rennie said unevenly. "Why should Idetest you?"

"Because, my child, I perceived things that you weresuccessfully concealing from everyone else." He spoke withmore depth, more warmth, and bent slightly her way foremphasis. "At first I admired your pluck — and yourmotives. Then it made me angry that you should go onfutilely struggling when a little assistance might have halvedyour troubles. You’re a pighead."

Rennie was saved from an immediate retort by a concertedburst of hilarity from the surrounding boats. One of theracing yachts had capsized and all the craft were makingfor the river bank, near the club.

"The race is over," Kent murmured with mock regret "Andwe're not even aware who won. Are you hungry?"

"No . . yes."

"Make up your mind," with patient sarcasm. "I take it you'renot desperately hungry but you'd feel more comfortableback there among the lights and people?"

"It . . . isn't that. If I don't show up with the rest my father willbe anxious."

"Are you sure that's all?"

She looked towards him. Her face, pale in the mercilesslight, was sharply shadowed and had an air of appealingdistress. As she met his turquoise stare his mouthcompressed as if to quell some further sarcasm.

"I meant to get rid of the boy so that we could talk," he saidcurtly. "But you must choose. Shall we stay for a while, or goin? "

Stay, pleaded her heart. But the floodlamps flickered, thesafe daylight was swallowed in warm, perilous darkness,and Kent was so near, and somehow threatening.

"All right," he said abruptly, and gave an order to the boy:"Start her up, Jacob, and head for the jetty."

Rennie felt a gentle pressure on her shoulders andobediently sat down. She closed her eyes and realizedtheir hot heaviness, the dry ache in her throat and an inwardhollow exhaustion. She seemed without nerve or will.

So this was how it happened. She was twenty years oldand grown up — or so she had fancied. But she had notgrown up till a moment ago, when a combination ofemotions had revealed that she no longer . . . disliked Kent.

The launch was arrowing swiftly upstream. Kent wasstanding with his feet set wide, his hands in his pockets, abaffling frown creasing his forehead. The peaked cap was

pushed back as if he had forgotten it were there. Black hairand eyebrows, she thought wryly. It can't be.

Presently she was able to say, "Did you hear about Rufus?"

His head bent. "The big dog? Has something happened tohim?"

In a few words she explained.

"Filthy luck," he said briefly. "I’ll get you another."

"No. Not yet, anyway." She had only told him becausespeaking of something a little sad and closely related to heraffections had helped to dispel some of the inward frightand numbness.

They approached the jetty and gently bumped alongside.The boy leapt out and tied up. Kent followed and gaveRennie a lift which landed her beside him. They mingledwith the jolly strangers who were gradually filtering into theclub. He had his hand on her arm and Rennie held herselfcompletely stiff, commanding herself to ignore it

"You look pale," he said in an undertone. "Wait here and I'llbring you a drink."

Gratefully, Rennie subsided among some cushions. A bandwas tuning up and already men were choosing partnersfrom among their friends in sailor frocks. The room was

bathed in brilliant orange light the floor — what could beseen of it — a bowering surface of polished hardwoodwhich reflected and magnified the great bowls that hungfrom the ceiling. Rattan chairs and sofas were against thewalls, and at intervals between the munching, drinkinggroups, Rennie glimpsed pedestals supporting urns offlowers. Somewhere at the other end of the room the buffettables creaked beneath the weight of glass and silver,mounds of sandwiches, trays of cold savories, coloredconcoctions in tall glasses, nuts and sweetmeats. And notfar from the food scintillated a very new and well-stockedcocktail bar.

When Kent came back she smiled at him with an attempt atjauntiness and slipped along the seat so that he could sitdown and place the tray he had brought between them.

His glance, as it roamed over her, was searching.

"You’re thinner," he said. "There are smudges under youreyes and your nerves are not too steady. What the hell isAdrian thinking about!"

She tried to control the sudden startled drumming of herheart

"You’re imagining things. I’m not thinner, just peckish." Shetransferred a wedge of cheese and a biscuit on to a platebut made no effort to eat them. She would have given much

for a cup of very

black coffee. "Have you seen my father?"

Kent jerked his head towards the balcony. "He’s up there. Imade signs to him that you’re here and all in one piece."

"Thank you." She sipped the drink and shuddered. "What isthis?"

"It’s known as a Singapore. The boys used to swallow oneat the end of a flight."

He had never before mentioned his flying days.

"A nerve restorer?" she asked.

"Something of the sort. When did you last eat?"

"At lunch-time."

He took the glass from her and replaced it on the tray, "Inthat case," he said decisively, "the Singapore stays theretill you’ve refuelled. Eat up that cheese and try a sandwich.It’s no use protesting. For tonight, I’m in charge. I’d like tohave control of you — and Mayenga — for about a month.You’d hardly know each other after it."

Rennie could summon no banality to fill the pause, so shenibbled and found, to her astonishment, that her throat

could take it, and the very act of chewing made her feelmore normal. Apparently she still had the power to eat anddrink.

What on earth had come over her ten minutes ago? Therewas nothing soul-shattering in the discovery that she nolonger disliked Kent. How could she continue at enmity witha man whose only object in taunting her was to batter downher defences, and help wherever he could?

By degrees her color came back, and she managed toinsert a few comments into the conversation.

"Down that drink," he bade her. It’ll make you want todance."

"I want to now."

"With me?"

"If you wouldn’t hate it too much."

He laughed softly. "I've performed more painful duties. As amatter of fact, I privately determined as far back asChristmas to dance with you at least once."

"Christmas?"

"It was then that I told you I loathed dancing, from which yougathered that I was a rotten dancer. Remember?"

She nodded and stood up with him. The danced, and Kentmade a tiny jeering sound when she missed a step and hadto fill in. Certainly he made no errors.

He said, "Your father's waving down at you, and there’s anaughty gleam in Mr. Morgan’s eye. I can see it all the wayfrom here. I wonder if the old chap planned that launchbusiness?"

"Why should he?"

"Why indeed. I did once admit to him that you were adifficult wench."

"And I told him weeks ago that you were an overbearingbeast."

"Dear, dear. How well we’re acquainted." A pause. "Don'tyou agree that the feud has gone on long enough?" "Yes,"she answered breathlessly. "Oh, yes."

"Good. I invite myself over tomorrow for a Sunday morningcup of tea."

They stopped at on opening, and Rennie felt a sweet warmgust of air over her skin. A strange and wholly exquisitesensation ran through her being.

"Come outside," he said.

The door led to a back veranda overlooking acres ofunbridled veld, which the keen yachtsmen appeared in nohurry to convert into gardens. The sky was the usualspangled velvet, and myriads of cicadas trilled among themimosa and wild fig scrub.

Kent inhaled deeply. "Smell the wattle?"

"The bitterish scent? It’s more like mimosa than mimosaitself. Yours doesn’t bloom yet, does it? How long will it bebefore you can call your miles of saplings a wattle estate?"

"A few years. I’m in no hurry. I’ve another timber concessionto work on yet."

"Another — besides Elands Ridge?"

He nodded. "A tract up-river. I was offered it recently andsnapped it up. Superficially it’s near-cousin to a jungle, butthere are hundreds of valuable trees there, some of themmahoganies. I’m looking forward to clearing them andgetting a good close-up."

A vibrant note had entered his voice. Strange, thoughtRennie, that trees could do that to him; and she wasvaguely annoyed.

"Forestry means a great deal to you, doesn’t it?" she said.

"No other work has quite the same fascination and sense

"No other work has quite the same fascination and senseof fulfillment." He sounded thoughtful and rather aloof."Finely-figured timbers are the deuce to rear, you know."

"I suppose that’s why they’re expensive."

"Partly. The chief reason is the time required to produce atrunk of sufficient girth and height. It’s the years that putgrain into the wood and gnarl it, and make it hard and solid.In our garden when I was a boy we had a walnut tree abouteighty years old. In those days I used to speculate about itand wish we could fell it and slice it up into beautifully-marked planks. It may still be there."

"The tree existed before the house?"

"Years before. Our garden was like that." As he loweredhimself to the veranda wall where she perched, he smiledreminiscently. "There were cypresses and twisted oldolives, and a whole grove of lemon trees. In the days whenmy father bought you could acquire land for next to nothing,so we owned a young park. Duiker and rooibok used tograze on our lawns, and from the branches of the walnut youcould see herds of zebra and wildebeest on the plainsbetween Gravenburg and the mountains. Occasionally wesaw giraffe and impala, and leopard used to raid our petenclosure." He let out a breath that was half a mockingsigh. "So much for progress. The beasts have been drivento seek less civilized pastures and women till their formerhunting grounds. We even have guest farms — retreats

where young novelists may board and imbibe local color totake back to Hampstead and Chelsea." Sardonically, hetacked on: ‘We Outspanned at Dawn, by Michael Rogers."

Smiling at this tilt at herself, she spoke up for Michael.

"That isn’t the title, and anyway, it’s a very good novel. Youwon't find a jarring note anywhere."

"I quite believe that," he said drily. "I have immense respectfor Adrian’s literary qualities and unerring sense of fitness.How far has this magnificent chunk of fiction advanced?"

"Nearly halfway. Michael is putting in ten or twelve hoursevery day."

"And he's hoping to burst into two-inch headlines?" Renniefelt that he was being a little unfair. "Not quite that. You see,he’s one of the unfortunate people whose careers werehalted by the war. Poor Michael has to find his feet again,and it's not too easy. At the moment he's using up whatmoney he has and is earning nothing. He's investingeverything in the book."

"He must have colossal confidence in his own abilities,"Kent observed.

"That's necessary to success, isn’t it.. . particularly in theprofession he's chosen. If the novel should fail he'll losemore than a career."

Kent cast her a swift glance. "How do you mean?" "He'll be

penniless, without a job, and____" she hesitated.

"And no hope of marrying?" Kent finished for her, a trifletersely. "Does he think it takes just one novel to make anovelist? Supposing this book is accepted and sells, howwill he contrive a second without a benign godfather topolish and prune and counsel restraint? But perhaps,"coolly, "he'll decide to remain at Mayenga, or carry you andyour father home to England with him." A few secondspassed. "Would you like to return to England?"

"Some time ... if we're ever able to afford a holiday. But I'msure that after a month or so I'd long to get back toMayenga. We were badly fleeced when we bought theplace, but I've come to forgive, and love it."

"Like a mother with an unmanageable child. So yourhusband, when you acquire one, will have to fit into thefarm?"

Rennie turned to look out over the dark, murmurous veld.Her tone was quiet and introspective. "Marriage altersone's conceptions. It is the individual who counts then, notthe environment."

His next question was blunt and disconcerting. "Do youwant to marry?"

"What woman doesn't?" she returned lightly. "Quite anumber of men do, too — believe it or not. I doubt if evenyou are an exception."

"So do I," he replied unexpectedly but with irony. "I mayeven confound my severest critic and fall in love."

"If that should happen," she countered in the same carefullyairy tone, "your severest critic will be the first to offerfelicitations."

There was a short, rather brittle silence. Grateful for theSingapore which, whatever it may have contained, hadinfused her with a modicum of Dutch courage, Rennieresolutely refused to dissect Kent's last statement. Later,when she was alone, conjecture about Kent and Jackiewould be unavoidable, but she was not going to spoil thesehours with him.

Matter-of-factly he ended the pause.

"If I were you I'd start harvesting the maize at once, beforeany harm can come to it, and stack it loosely in the yard tofinish off. It won't grow anymore."

"We thought of hand-picking straight into sacks to avoidwaste, so we can't begin till the cobs are absolutely ripe.We've stripped the cowpeas and the boys are cropping thesoya beans now."

"I can't see them from my land. How are they yielding?"

"Not too badly, but the cows will be disgusted with the soyahay. Most of the leaves have dropped."

"Insufficient fertilizer — they’re a greedy crop. The soilought to be analyzed so that you know where you stand fornext season." He reached out and laid a hard brown handover hers as it rested on the wall. "Rennie, promise mesomething."

The hand beneath his contracted, and turned hot "What?"

"You're trying to get through without dragging Adrian awayfrom that blamed novel. Oh, yes, you are — I’m not blind. Ifthe book means such a lot to you to let the pair of them goahead and complete it. But you’re tackling so much that Ican see you heading for a collapse if you go on bottling upyour problems, or trying to handle them with too little laborand equipment. Promise that you’ll let me know if you’re inthe least trouble."

"But, Kent. . . ." She tried to withdraw her fingers but he heldthem fast. She laughed unsteadily. "You know how it is withfarming. There are dozens of worries every day butsomehow they smooth themselves out."

"No quibbling. Promise."

"Very well. But if ... if you’re coming over sometimes you’llsee for yourself."

"I doubt it. You dissemble too well."

The door which Kent had closed behind them was suddenlythrust wide. Music roared above the gay din, and severalyoung folk came out to cool off and venture a little waythrough the grass and thickets.

Kent straightened to let Rennie pass in front of him andenter the ballroom. Just inside the door sat Adrian withseveral of the older men. As his eyes found Rennie they losttheir look of dreamy content, and became more alive. Hetapped her wrist.

"Well, my dear, so Kent’s annexed you. That boy whoparted us has been combing the crowds for you. He saidyou agreed to dance with him. Are you having fun?"

"Lots, darling. Hello, Mr. Morgan. How are you?" as thechuckling old man leaned forward to be noticed. "It’s awonderful party."

"How much have you seen of it?" he teased. "Kent’s amonopolist. He has a habit of sticking to one woman all theevening. I've noticed it before, at the Pinetree."

"It saves a lot of bother," Kent said lazily. "I object to makingrepetitive small talk with a dozen young women I might

never

meet again."

"Just think what you might be missing! Your fate may bedrifting round in this very club tonight, and you’re passing upthe chance of meeting her."

"Fortunate for us both, perhaps," Kent answered. "I don’tsee Mrs. Morgan anywhere about."

The old man laughed gustily. "I’m not so smug a bacheloras you young fellows. If I could find a pretty woman my sideof fifty I'd marry her quick."

"You've been working that line for the last twenty years, youold humbug."

"Have I?" Mr. Morgan sobered a little. "Well, let it be alesson to you, Kent." He smiled up at Rennie, his bushywhite brows twitching. "Take him in hand and tame him.Tear his heart a bit. He’ll want to strangle you for it, but it’lldo you both good."

Kent was grinning at the tide of color which had swept upfrom her neck.

"Rennie doesn’t play those games — do you, little one?" hejibed softly, "She wouldn’t hurt me unless I hurt her first."

Which was so exactly right that Rennie could find nothing tosay. Unwittingly, Adrian helped her out by waving a hand atsomeone behind her. Within two minutes she was dancingwith the man in naval uniform who had accompanied her tothe launch, and after that she had a fruit drink with him andwas drawn into some games. When she had threaded herway back to Adrian, Kent was still nearby, discussing arecent sale of polo ponies with a portly ex-judge.

Rennie took the gilt chair beside her father’s.

"I’m glad we came," he said. "This is different from anythingwe’ve ever done before. No starched shirts — so friendly.You see the man talking to Kent?"

"The fat one?"

"He has a private library of three thousand volumes, quite afamous one, I believe. He invited me to look them over, andI shall do so as soon as my notes for Michael's book areready. He also asked me to address the local Rotary Club,but I had to turn it down."

"Oh, but why? You’d have loved it."

"All in good time, Rennie. My streak of showmanship tellsme to wait till the lecture tour is what you moderns term „inthe bag'." He gave her the familiar smile. "The GravenburgRotarians will have infinitely more reverence for a touringlecturer from England than for a scribbling, scratching

maize farmer. The world has little respect for failures. It hasoccurred to me, my dear, that we’d be happier without theweight of Mayenga on our shoulders."

"Give up Mayenga! Oh, no."

"It would simplify matters," he said equably. "And be lesscostly than putting in a manager while we’re away, besideseliminating a heap of worry. However, that’s still in thefuture. We’ll defer decision till the harvest is over. It won’t beso long now."

Kent had swivelled to place himself on the other side ofAdrian.

"I'm leaving soon. Are you coming?"

"I would like another chat with the judge," said Adrian. "ButRennie will be getting tired. . . ."

"Exactly what you were intended to say," Kent broke in."Come along, Rennie. I'll take you home and your father canfollow when he’s through with the judge."

She got up, exchanged smiles with her father, and quiveredat Kent’s inflexible grip on her elbow. Then they were out ina night gone cool and inexpressibly sweet, walking downthe path between the boats and out on to the embankment,where the cars were parked, and native chauffeurs satabout talking and smoking coarse-smelling tobacco.

"Hadn’t you a wrap or a bag?" Kent asked.

"My bag," she exclaimed. "I didn’t wear a coat, but I didbring my small evening purse — it’s black silk with my initialin one corner. Where can I have left it?"

He stood regarding her quizzically in the darkness.

"Think back, child. When did you last powder your nose?"

"I haven't powdered it. It must be horribly shiny." Instinctivelyher forefinger touched the tip.

"The bag," he gently reminded her. "Did you have the thingwhen we danced?"

"I’m sure I didn’t. I’m so unused to toting a handbag thesedays. In fact, I haven’t opened it, except to pop a hanky inthe flap since..."

Since when? The night she had first met Michael, wasn’t it?

"I’ve a horrid feeling," she ended, "that I left it in the launch."

"If so, it’s simple. She’ll still be tied up at the landing-stage.We can slip along and see."

The water slapped peacefully at the jetty piles, rippling inkwith stars in its depths. A couple of native police boys in a

patrolling boat were chanting, one high-pitched, the otherbasso profundo; a weird combination which, at this hourand with the faint odor of frangipani and wattle in thenostrils, plucked at the nerves.

When they reached the Silver Streak, Kent said, "I'll dropdown into the boat and strike a match. The bag should benear where you sat."

She watched him as he moved the camp-stool and raspedone match after another.

"It’s here," he said suddenly. "Seems to have burst openand scattered your belongings. Would you rather come andcollect them yourself?"

"No, there can't be much. Will you bring them for me?" "I

will."

He bunched the lot in one hand, stepped on to the side ofthe boat and took a leap. Elaborately, he presented herwith the empty bag.

"Hold it open and I'll tip the goods in. One powder compact.Right?"

"Right," she laughingly affirmed.

"One lipstick, a tiny box that might contain snuff." "Rouge!"

" ... a lace handkerchief, two dear little safety-pins, bless’em, and a tiny perfume container." His closed fist stillhovering above the bag, he winked down at her. "Is that thelot?"

She smiled, keyed up by his mood, and brushed herfingertips over the big knuckles.

"Is it another hanky?"

"No."

"Money?"

"No."

"Then," she shook her head, "I'm stumped."

His hand opened. "Your pearls, idiot."

Pearls, she echoed blankly. And then, through some scurvytrick of human nature, she trembled violently "They’re . . .Michael’s."

"Michael’s?"

His voice revealed nothing, and it was too dark to read hisexpression, but as they walked to the car she was keenlyconscious of a change in him.

"So Michael wears pearls," he stated with sarcasm. "Well,well."

She felt a wild impulse to cry out the truth; that the necklacewas Jackie’s; that — quite excusably, due Michael’sabsorption and her own preoccupation with the farm — shehad entirely forgotten Jackie’s request for it to be returnedto Michael. But Jac loved Kent, and he . . . might he not bemore than half in love with Jac."

A chill crept over Rennie. She must at least make himunderstand that the pearls were not hers and never hadbeen; would he believe that, without further details? Shethought not, and was wrenched by a cold helpless angeragainst Jackie, who always got what she wanted at theexpense of others.

Kent put her into his car and gave her a rug, reversed andswerved away from the river towards the Gravenburg road.The black outlines of the trees sped by, and presently theywere racing through the half-lit town and the northernsuburbs. The car had crossed the bridge and they werewithin sight of the farmhouse when Kent made theconventional inquiry.

"Are you tired ?"

"A little. Thank you for everything."

"Would you like me to go in with you?"

"I think I’ll go straight to bed."

He braked, slithered out on to the track and came round intime to open the door for her.

"There seems to be plenty of lights," he said.

"Yes. Shall we see you tomorrow?"

"Probably. About mid-morning."

"Good night, Kent."

"Goodnight."

Rennie flitted up the path and into the hall, where shestayed for a moment, listening to the fading hum of the car.She heard movements in the lounge and was seized withpanic; a session with Michael would be anti-climax.Hurriedly, she poked her head round the door.

"Still up, Michael? It’s me for the hay."

"Good party?"

"Splendid."

"Where’s Adrian?"

"He stayed for a while. Leave the lamps on, will you?"

"Sure.

Sweet dreams, Rennie."

Rennie went into her small white bedroom and stood verystill on the little blue rug beside the bed, not daring to think,or feel, or even to look at her colorless image in the mirror.

A mosquito sang past her ear and automatically sheswiped at it. The window ought to be closed and the roomsprayed, but

Rennie was too spent to care. She began to get ready forbed.

Directly after breakfast next morning she gave Michael thepearl necklet. He jiggled it in his palm, his mouth squarewith chagrin.

"It looked fine in the case when I bought it," he said, "but Isuppose Kent can give her the real thing, complete with aguarantee and a diamond clasp. Tough on chaps like me,isn't it?"

Rennie nodded her sympathy.

"Strange how opposites couple up," he said musingly."Jackie isn’t really Kent's cup of tea, and she'd make ahopeless sort of wife for a planter. She hates Africa."Rennie stared. "How can you possibly know that? She

always says she adores the country."

"Does she? Maybe I'm wrong, then."

He strolled off to his desk and a few minutes later Rennieheard him whistling; actually whistling, with the returnedpearls in his pocket. That was all Jacqueline Caton meantto him now.

C H A P T E R T E N DURING the following week Kentcame twice to Mayenga, but neither time did he stay long,nor was his manner companionable. In a businesslike tonehe talked harvesting and next year's crops. When Adrianmentioned that they hadn't any plans for new planting,Kent's dark brows pulled together, but he asked noquestions. Nor did he offer suggestions as to the newrotation of crops.

Rennie rather thought he rode over merely to keep his wordto her. She looked forward to his visits, however brief, buthis offhandedness hurt. He was stony and incalculable. If,by chance, he was alone with her for a moment, she felt theold antagonism rise between them like an iron wall; therewas no teasing now, and little sarcasm. It became a painfulrelief when he rode away again.

Michael was working harder than ever. On one of hisafternoons in town he had beguiled a tennis partner intolending him a portable typewriter and, after lunch each day,

when his brain was at its most sluggish, he pattered awayat the finished chapters, and in the evening Renniecorrected and fastened them for him.

As she had anticipated, his heroine had Jackie's looks andcharacter to begin with, and she broadened into a strong-minded but lovable middle-age. He had also introducedanother young woman, modelled, Rennie rather suspected,partly on herself. A sweet, obliging person who had earlycherished an unrequited love for the hero, had married lateand become her husband's doormat. Good reading andironically true to life. Michael certainly had a talent forpumping red blood into his characters, whether hehappened to like them or not.

Rennie said as much to Adrian one afternoon, when he wassuperintending the loading of the bags of soya beans readyfor town. She had been trying to persuade him indoors, outof the hot sun, by reminding him that the more he did forMichael now, the sooner he would be free to help with themaize gathering. Though privately she had no intention ofletting him overtire himself with the harvesting. Withoutencouragement, Adrian plunged into a description of theevents to be portrayed in the second half of the novel, andRennie offered her comment about Michael's undoubtedabilities.

"That's so," Adrian agreed. "His people exist and react likehuman beings. That's why I'm so happy to help him. For his

second novel, which, presumably, he’ll write elsewhere, I’dsuggest that he draw on his knowledge of present-dayEgypt. After all, it's the story and characterization that sell anovel of his kind, and he can manage both withoutassistance. If he chooses a background with which he'sfamiliar, the local color will come without forcing." "The nextbook will take him much longer than the first."

"Naturally, but that will hardly matter. Ambitions don’tmaterialize in five minutes, even for an enthusiast likeMichael." He pushed back his hat and drew a handkerchiefacross his forehead. "The trouble with growing old, Rennie,is that ambitions bother one less and less. There was atime when I contemplated writing a book — not Michael’ssort, but one of those suede-jackets full of essays, that noone ever buys."

"I’d have bought a hundred!"

"I know you would." His expression was tender. "Well, myambition wasn’t strong enough, and now it has passedaway. Not altogether, though. Writing with Michael hasmade me realize that I shall never make a farmer. For yoursake, my dear, I’m sorry."

She linked her arm in his. "I’ve known it all along, darling,and even more so since Michael came. It isn’t important, ifyou’re happy."

He turned his head to look full at her. "Your happinessmeans more to me than mine. I think about you often,Rennie, and blame myself for bringing you here, and lettingyou in for so much work and anxiety."

"Silly! I wouldn't have missed Mayenga for anything in the

world."

Which was true. Heat, fatigue, backache, heartache —Mayenga was worth it all. Back in England, Adrian hadalmost casually chosen South Africa as a country in whichthey could "strike roots." As fax as Rennie was concerned,that process had definitely taken place at Mayenga. Sherarely thought about the vast continent surrounding thespeck that was Gravenburg.

At last Adrian was coaxed to go into the house; Rennieinspected the loaded ox-wagon and pronounced it ready totravel. A sjambok cracked, the native driver rolled out a fewsyllables of thick Zulu, and the team began to jog down thetrack, led by a barefoot piccaninni, with the wagon lurchingbehind.

Rennie watched the departing soya crop with doubtfulsatisfaction. It looked a rich load, but reckoned by theacreage the returns had been disappointing, to say theleast. However she juggled with figures in the ledger, it wasimpossible to disguise the fact that the soya beans had

scarcely paid for themselves. The cowpeas had donebetter and the field of lucerne had recently been sold as itstood for a profit, but all were of small account, mereincidentals to the business of farming. It made her tremblea little to realize that their whole future at Mayengadepended on the maize, which was just about ready to bepicked. The crop must yield a minimum of ten bags to theacre or they were sunk. Her father’s estimate that eight tothe acre would see them through had been too optimistic.Intermittently, she was haunted by the spectre of lone-drawn-out debts. She could hardly wait to get started onMing the new jute bags with maize.

As it happened, next day a change in the weather halted allwork on the farm. After a hot still morning the sky brazed,and Rennie looked forward to a welcome storm. But mid-afternoon, eddies of dust rose and settled again; rosehigher and sprayed into the face with force. Strangely, thesky had cleared, but as the squall got into its stride a fewhigh, white clouds appeared, ominously stationary in thesteel-blue heavens. There was no single sign of rain.

Paddy, the gelding, jerked and reared against the gritwhich entered his eyes and nostrils. The wind tore atRennie's shirt and whipped her hair into strings. When shegalloped into the yard, her father and Michael were there,slamming and barring the shed doors, shouting worriedquestions at each other and barking at the boys. Theyturned together and ran towards her.

"So here you are!" yelled Michael, above the noise. "Downyou come, Rennie, and into shelter. This is awful."

He hauled her to the ground, pushed her into Adrian’s armsand grabbed Paddy’s reins.

Within five minutes all three were indoors, laughingbreathlessly as they chased round, heaving in Michael'sbed and locking the windows and doors.

At last Michael collapsed into an armchair.

"Gosh, just listen! How deep did you dig the foundations,Adrian?"

"I can’t remember," he replied absently. "But it sounds as ifwe shall soon know."

Anxiously, Rennie queried, "Will this beat down the maize?"

"If it does the cobs will still be there," Adrian answered."Mealies are sturdy — not like oats and barley. A wind atthis strength can’t last long."

Which, though common sense, had no basis in fact. Sincedwelling at Mayenga they had experienced nothing like this,nor had they ever been warned that a south-easter at thisseason might reach hurricane force.

"It’s freakish," he added, his attention on the bending

saplings in the garden and the gale-driven objects flyingthrough the air. "Like March in England, only more so."

"A million times more so," said Rennie soberly.

"If it continues for only an hour there’ll be plenty of carpentryto do."

"We'll attack it together," Michael said comfortingly. "Is ittoo early for a spot of tea, Rennie?"

She was glad to have a task which drew her away from thedampening sight through the window. Tall delphiniums andcannas snapped flat to the ground, and smaller plantsuprooted and swept away; the rockery disappearingbeneath drifts of dust; her plants toppling like skittles fromthe stoep wall, and whole branches wrenched from thefrenzied young trees in the side garden, and flung againstthe panes. There was no escaping the incessant thunder ofwind around the house and the terrifying shudders of thecorrugated iron roof, though performing the commonplaceduty of pouring tea and offering cakes helped to mute them.

Michael, the twentieth chapter of his novel dangling over hisknees, was unscrewing his pen as he gazed speculativelyat the wall and nibbled a scone. He was one of thosefortunate beings who can forget nuisances like storms,though a buzzing fly he found unendurable.

"My women tend to get out of hand," he growled. "Gelda,

"My women tend to get out of hand," he growled. "Gelda,for instance — the self-sacrificing one. Give me your angleon something, Rennie?"

"What?" she asked guardedly.

"Well, you remember the hero has married the heroine andGelda has got herself a husband who despises her. Now, Ihave the hero and Gelda alone. He’s seething with rageover a sharp exchange with his wife and he suddenly seesGelda as the sweet, submissive type of woman whom hethinks he ought to have chosen. Experimentally, he kissesher." His tone was that of a mechanic dissatisfied with theway the wheels are running. "How should she respond?"

"She still loves him?"

"Yes, but wouldn’t love-making with another man be out ofcharacter?"

"What have you made her do?"

"Turn hard and remind him of the wife he adores, and herown husband."

"Psychologically feasible," said Adrian musingly, but thesubject could not have interested him deeply, for he wentout to find his pipe.

"It’s a ticklish situation. "What’s the woman’s viewpoint,Rennie?" urged Michael.

"Need they kiss?"

"The scene will lose pep if they don’t."

"Why should it? Can’t he find an aesthetic pleasure in beingwith Gelda?"

"This chap’s boiling from a row with his wife! He feels theneed to subdue a woman — any woman."

"Oh!" startled. "Are men like that?"

Michael laughed self-consciously. "I don’t think they are —not the nicer ones. It’s funny, but you give me the answerevery time, whether you mean to or not, I never thought ofGelda being strong, but she is. She’d see how things wereand instinctively steer him clear of complications. I’mcoming to like her. If I don’t watch out she’ll be stealingthunder."

"Not from Jackie," she stated, with a hint of mischief.

Michael was detaching the last half-dozen sheets of thechapter and tearing them across. When necessary he couldbe ruthlessly honest with himself.

"So you’ve noticed the similarity between Jackie and mymain character?" he said casually. "You don’t blame me,do you ? I haven’t made her a goddess."

"She’s warm and human — a grand job," she told himsincerely. "Particularly as she grows older andresponsibility develops her personality. So far, the novel isa tremendous compliment to Jackie. You ought to let herread it, Michael."

"Not I." He slipped the clip from between his teeth andsecured the pages. "By the time the book is finished sheshould be out of my system."

"If you really believe that, you’ve never been in love withher."

His shoulders lifted, but before he could speak a new,reverberating din overhead brought them both to their feet,staring at each other with wide, alarmed eyes. A section ofthe roof must have been prised from its rivets, for it liftedand fell repeatedly, shivering the asbestos board ceilingand filling the small house with a frightful clangor.

The next two hours were an unvarnished nightmare. Whenat length the wind died to an apologetic whine, an eeriedusk was settling and night, when it came, was opaque andstarless, much too dark to begin repairs. Adrian said thatperhaps they should be grateful that the squall had caughtup with them in daylight.

All night Rennie lay listening for rain which did not come. Inthe dawn they went out to view the devastation from various

parts of the battered garden, A slice of corrugated ironhung rakishly over the stoep, leaving a great triangular gashin the roof. One of the sheds leaned forlornly westwards, itsdoors forced open, and Rennie’s modest pergola, intendedeventually to be vine-entwined, had disappearedaltogether. An oaken gate had been carried several feet tocrash fatally on to a bed of pelargoniums and Watsonias.The whole place had a depressing air of disaster.

A fresh wind blew all day, hampering movements andslowing down the boys. The strange coolness seemed toimpregnate their sun-loving bones, for, wherever they wereset to a job they built a fire and took turns in crouching overit and brewing large quantities of sugar water. A few ofthem, deeming the white people mad and inconsiderate,simply threw blankets over their khaki clothes and went offto stew within the huts until the weather became normal.Useless to threaten them with loss of wages; to them theircomfort was priceless.

Fleetingly, Rennie recalled her promise to send for Kent iftrouble arose. He would have known how to keep the boysat work, and he would have lent riveting tools for mendingthe roof and a trained workman to use them; Kent seemedto possess everything. But he might be busy on repairs ofhis own and, in any case, if he couldn't guess their plight itmight as well be obscured from him. Perhaps tomorrowshe would scribble an airy note sketching for him a faintpicture of the desolation from which they were emerging. It

would help to have him ride over at the week-end.

To Michael's credit, he labored longer than anyone, andwith appreciable success. It was pure bad luck that towardsevening he should injure his wrist and put himself out ofaction for next day.

"My right wrist, too," he groaned. "No writing or typing forme for a while."

Rennie brought cold water and a quickly-contrived pad as acompress.

"Do this first, and later we'll massage it. A rest from writingwon't harm you."

"I know, but I've gone unbearably impatient. What with thewind and the roof hanging off, I got no sleep last night. Ispent the time thinking about all sorts of things."

"We all did."

"My thoughts were selfish, I'm afraid. The novel is seldomout of my mind," He winced as the sodden pad waspressed round his swollen wrist. "The twentieth chaptermarks the halfway line

— a hundred thousand words. Most of it is typed ready forthe publisher. I've a good mind to send it to a friend of minein London — just for comments."

"Yes, why don't you?" Rennie re-dipped the pad andsqueezed it, wishing she had some cubes of ice with whichto cool the water. "If you're still out of action on Saturdaymaybe I can type the last few pages for you."

Michael looked at the tawny head bent over his hand.

"You're a stout little scout, Rennie. You never think ofyourself first, yet you must be horribly weary."

She was. Fatigue seemed to have filtered into every sinew;her knees were wobbly with it, her eyes dark and heavy. Inaddition she was worrying about her father. Adrian was aman of average health, but he quickly showed signs ofphysical strain. With Michael incapacitated, tomorrow'sburdens would be heavy. Ought she to go to Kent? Oughtshe?

Well, it was too late tonight, and the morning's sun would,as always, imbue the new day with new hope. Time enoughto decide by Adrian’s appearance tomorrow lunchtime.

In the course of the following morning the major renovationswere completed, and as it was delivery day for the butter,Rennie had little difficulty in persuading her father to takethe car to town for the afternoon. Seeing that there wasnothing Michael could do at Mayenga, he went along too, tobuy a couple of books he needed. He agreed with Adrianand Mr. Morgan that a public library was a long overdue

necessity in Gravenburg.

Rennie had already sent some boys to start maize-picking,and it was with a spurt of dread and excitement that sheturned Paddy’s nose up-river, to take her first peek at themaize since the gale.

As she expected, it lay like a yellow matting over the land,most of it bent at soil level, but even from the saddle shecould see the ripened cobs still sheathed and attached tothe stems. The picking would be tedious, but, as theculmination of the season, it had its own peculiar thrill. Atlast the harvest.

She took the right-angle track between the fields. Thebreeze, still cool, fore wood-smoke along with it and, faraway at the edge of the acreage where the boys were, acontinuous grey plume swept out across the maize anddisintegrated. Almost unnoticing, she was watching thesmoke, the way it came up in a fast-moving, widening fan,shrouding the natives. Then it cleared, and her sensesreceived a sickening jolt. For the boys were prancing madlyand beating at the ground with sacks. The idiots hadstarted their indispensable fire in the stubble with the windbehind it.

Rennie's heels dug into the gelding. As her head loweredand her hand clenched over the rein, panic surged up in herthroat. Now, she could see a low, advancing wall of flame,

the tongues licking high here and there, where the maizelay thickest. Paddy snorted with terror, his forelegs roseand pawed air, hot breaths, pungent and blinding, gushedtowards her, but she kept her heels pressed in and prayedfor more speed.

Then Paddy jibbed and would go no further. Rennie sprangto the ground and ran, skirting the flames and calling to theboys to beat harder . . . not to be "saba." As an example,she grabbed a bag and raced ahead of them, flailing thefire with all her strength, reckless of everything but thenecessity for saving the maize.

Maliciously, the wind worked against her. The fire was toobig, and expanding minute by minute. This way of fighting itwas hopeless. She cried to the natives to go on while shefetched help.

There would be no money for meat if the mealies were lost,she warned them; their jobs would be gone, their childrenwould starve.

She chased away and caught Paddy, leapt on to his backand pushed him to a gallop. Kent had fire-fightingapparatus for his forests; it would take time to reach himand get the thing working, but there was no other means ofsalvaging a proportion of the crop. Five hundred acres.Paddy’s hoofs thudded it, so did her pulses. Five hundredacres at, say, twelve bags to the acre. Six thousand bags

each carrying 200 lbs. It mustn't be destroyed.

Here was the house. Tall white walls and green shuttersvisible between tree-trunks, the garden shut in by a lowcement wall which began where the trees ended.

Rennie twisted and cantered alongside the wall till shefound a gate. Dismounted, she clung to the iron bars amoment before passing into the wide, somnolent flowergarden. She hurried, stumbling, up the path, lurched up theveranda steps and entered the open doorway to the lounge.

Desperation put all the remnants of her energy into hervoice. "Kent! Oh, Kent!"

He came striding in, halted, utterly incredulous, and took theremaining distance between them in a bound.

"For God’s sake, Rennie!" Roughly, he gripped hershoulders. "How did you get like this? What is it?"

She could have fallen against him, but somehow she keptupright and managed a husky whisper.

"Our maize is afire . . . the boys can't deal with it . . . wemustn't lose it, Kent. We mustn't!"

He took it in at once, as she had known he would.

"Which end?" he demanded swiftly.

"Mayenga . . . across the trade from the rivet. Kent. ... ”

"Don't talk. Get your breath while I ring my superintendent."

He was gone, but not far. Above the hammering of herheart and her own uneven breathing she could hear himspeaking in the hall.

"Yes, Maxwell, The Gaynors' maize is alight, nearestMayenga. Take the whole outfit and all the boys. Promisethem a bonus for good work and shove on a boss-boy tokeep them at it. The wind's the devil, but do your best, Willyou get along without me? Good."

The telephone pinged and Kent came back. At once hepoured whisky and brought it over, but the need for fortitudepast, Rennie

had slumped into a chair, her smoke-smudged face buriedin her hands, the brown hair fallen forward in a tender,shining curtain.

Kent stood over her for a minute. Then he placed the glasson the arm of another chair and waited, his face an angularmask, till her head was raised a little, and she looked athim.

" I. . . I'm sorry, Kent."

"Sorry," he echoed savagely, searching her small, tearless

"Sorry," he echoed savagely, searching her small, tearlessface. "Why the deuce don't you cry?"

"You’d . . . hate that I . . . don’t feel so bad now."

"You look like hell. Drink this, and then you’re going to liedown."

She gulped some of the whisky. It burned, and she shookher head.

"No more, please. I’m all right . . . really. It was the ride."

"The ride on top of three gruelling months," he said. "Youdon’t have to do any explaining to me, nor fall back on theconventions. I know too much. You're staying here till you’rethoroughly rested."

"But the maize____"

"Hang the maize. It’s taken care of."

He whipped a clean handkerchief from his top pocket;damped it from the carafe and knelt in front of her. Withunwonted gentleness he dabbed the stains from her faceand bathed a scratch on her cheekbone. A lock of her hairhad fallen forward and he tucked it back.

She gave him a wan little smile. "I didn’t know you could beso kind, Kent. You’re like a nice brother."

"So be it," he answered briefly. "I’m going to carry you intoa bedroom. Ready?"

She felt his warmth and vitality, the intense comfort of hisstrong arms; saw the long, thin scar under his jaw andunaccountably ached to lay her lips to it and keep themthere forever.

He lowered her on to a blue linen-cover, unlaced herbrogues and slipped them off, and dropped a fluffy lightblanket about her. He drew the curtains and glanced at hiswatch.

"It's just after four. I’ll look in again at about seven. It’s goingto be dull for you if you don’t sleep."

She started up. "Three hours! Oh, but Kent____"

"There’s nothing you can tell me that I haven’t thought of. I’lllet your father know you're here and bring back the latestnews of the conflagration. Compose yourself, little one. Idon’t want to have to dub you into unconsciousness," Heleaned over her, avoiding her eyes. For a second his cheeklay against her forehead, but when he straightened he hada faint, sardonic smile.

"A slight temperature, but nothing alarming. Go to sleep,child. You can talk later."

The door opened and dosed behind Kent. Loudly,ostentatiously, the key snicked in the lock.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

RENNIE was awakened by the full-toned bark of a dog justoutside the curtained window. She heard Kent’s hasty,"Shut up, you brute!" and a scuffling sound as though hewere thrusting the dog out into the garden. The room wasdark, but she knew at once where she was. It needed noeffort to recollect the circumstance which had brought her toElands Ridge this afternoon. It seemed as if the odour ofburning maize still lingered in her nostrils.

There came a light tap at the door and she answered,"Come in."

She noticed that Kent did not have to turn the key in the

lock. Had he entered before, while she slept? For themoment, Rennie didn't care.

He came and snapped on the reading lamp at the bedside,adjusted the shade and turned to survey the huddled figurein the crumpled blanket.

"Bad head?" he said softly. "I'll get you another pillow andsome aspirin." It was strange how so big a man could morearound without noise, and his deftness was amazing."There, is that easier? Swallow three of these, if you can.Not too much water. Is your throat sore?"

"Only horrible dry and hot."

"We'll let in more air." A sweet, scent-laden breeze puffedtowards the bed.

"What's the time?"

"Nine o'clock. You had a long sleep."

"I believe you doctored the whisky."

"What an accusation!" But he did not deny it

After a moment, she said: "The .. . maize?"

"The fire had taken hold. We worked for nearly three hoursand eventually got control, but about a third of the crop is

gone."

Her glance lowered and her mouth trembled. "Thank you,Kent. Does my father know?"

"He does. He wanted to come here for you but I put him off.I told him I'd take you home when you’re ready." He lookeddown at her white face and tousled hair as she lay back inthe pillows. "You see what happens when you overdo it. Theshock of the fire and that breakneck ride have used you up.I'll bet you're stiff as a board, feel sick as a pie dog andcould scream with nerves — but all you'll admit to is aheadache." His inflection altered: "I'm glad you came to me,Rennie. Don't regret it."

"What makes you think I might?"

"The way you hold yourself in. With almost any other manyou'd have hung on to him and wept. The state you were inyou couldn't have helped it. But there's something prettypowerful in your make-up that won't let you be natural withme."

"Would you have liked me to hang on and weep?"

"That's not the point. It would have relieved you, and youwouldn't now be suffering, among other things, from stifledemotions."

Tanu came in on whispering feet and laid a tray across

Rennie's knees. The tall, slim servant stood backexamining her gravely, apparently expecting her to fadeaway on such dainty fare. Kent dismissed him and shiftedhis own chair nearer the bedside.

"Tanu makes good omelettes — I taught him myself. You'llfeel more chipper when you’ve eaten. Mind if I have somecoffee with you?"

He didn't watch while she made a courageous attempt todispose of the omelette. Instead, he raised his feet to therung of the bedside table, pushed back precariously on twolegs of the chair — as was his habit

— and described the battle with the flames.

"When I got there my boys had joined yours, and Maxwellhad the pump working. The heat was fierce, the maize wasscorched black minutes before the fire swept over it, andthe smoke hampered us. Our only course was to saturate astrip of land right cross the fields, about twenty feet wide,and then work back to the flames." He paused. "When itwas all over I sacked your boys."

"What . . . all of them?"

"Every one, without wages. You can’t afford to employ thattype. My boss-boy saw them off your land, and I had themtaken to town in a lorry."

She was distressed. "What shall we do, with no labor?"

"You're going to borrow mine — and like it. The remainderof your maize will be stored in town by Monday; I promiseyou that. Next week we’ll begin ploughing."

"But how . . ."

"Easily," he broke in. "I've sixty boys, and my operationsare the sort that can wait. I shan't feel right till Mayenga isstraight and you've lost the hollows in your cheeks and thatweary darkness round the eyes. Rest is the medicine youneed. Can't you finish the toast?"

"I've eaten one piece," she pleaded.

He slid the tray on to the floor, got out his cigarette case,and opened

it.

"Smoke?"

She shook her head. "You have one, though."

The pain behind her eyes had diminished and she could situpright without a spasm of vertigo or a knocking behind herforehead. Now that the physical malaise was passing, herheart was lightening absurdly. For the first time she noticedthat the furniture was of an uncommon grey pine, the

dressing-table set with blue mats to match the curtains andbed cover, the rugs white and fleecy on the gleaming floor.She could see a severe gold monogram on each of thearticles on the tallboy and dressing-table, and the tip of aplain burgundy tie peeped through the closed wardrobedoor. In one corner stood a pair of highly-polished ridingboots. A man's room.

She was on the point of asking him about it; and then shehad no wish to know. It was enough that he was here,regarding her keenly but with unusual gentleness, and thatshe was, suddenly, intensely aware of him as a man.

"My father will worry," she said. "I must go."

He pulled at the cigarette. "Perhaps I ought to tell you that Ihad a bit of a showdown with Adrian this evening. Don't goall taut — it was nothing catastrophic, but I made him seewhere he'd landed you. We parted friends and he gave mea free hand at Mayenga."

"I hope you didn't upset him."

"I did at first — explained just how you appeared thisafternoon, without embellishments. It shook him rather, so Ihad to tone it down. Considering how much he cares foryou he's annoyingly blind to your needs. By the way, thejournalist wasn't there."

"Maybe he stayed the evening in town."

"Hasn't he finished the masterpiece yet?"

"It's halfway through." At this moment she had no time forMichael and his novel. "Kent, what happened to Paddy?"

"He's in my stables, recovering from the fright of the fire andmaking friends with the polo ponies. I'll bring him back toyou tomorrow." He reached over to press out his cigarettein a crystal ashtray. "Fit to move?"

Gingerly, she swung down her legs. There was a three-cornered rent in the knee of her breeches, and she wasconscious of the much-darned toes of her socks, thoughKent appeared not to see them. He tied her shoes andlifted her carefully to her feet.

"May I tidy up?" she asked, a little shakily.

He showed her the bathroom, and when she had washedand pressed back her hair, and taken a long draught ofsurprisingly cold water, a hint of pink returned to hercheeks. Heartened to discover that nothing fatal hadhappened to her looks, she made her way down thecorridor to Kent’s hall.

He was leaning in the doorway, facing the cool,tempestuous night, but as she joined him he half turned,and moved aside to make room for her.

"Find everything all right?"

"Yes, thank you."

"I’m afraid I can’t offer you cosmetics."

She smiled slightly. "You wouldn’t be so nice a person ifyou could."

"So you’re revising the estimate? It’s about time. You andElands Ridge have to get really acquainted."

"I’m deeply grateful for all you’ve done for me today, Kent."

"Are you, Rennie? You didn’t know I could be so kind," hemocked drily. "Like a nice brother. A nice brother!" herepeated on a self-derisory note. "No woman ever flungsuch an insult at me before. I only took it from you becauseyou were laid out."

She raised her face, and tiny sparks shone in the greyeyes. "I’ve had several hours’ sleep since then."

"So you have, little one, but you’re not quite up to beingkissed—the way I'd do it!" At her swift flush of alarm helaughed. "Does it frighten you—the thought of being kissedby me?"

"It might if there were any likelihood of it."

"You're much less conceited of yourself than you are ofbeing English," he commented. "Occasionally there arethings a man wants to say to a woman that words can’texpress. At such times kisses are useful. However," hisarm dropped lightly but compellingly across her shoulders;"there's nothing more aggravating than an excitingdiscussion which can have no climax. You're going home."

That short exchange with him just before she left ElandsRidge stayed with Rennie into the small hours of the night.Had Kent meant that he would have liked to kiss her, or hadhe just talked, as some men will, to enjoy her reactions?And why, when she and Adrian were confronted withfinancial disaster, should she vibrate with a totallyincomprehensible happiness? Her last conscious thoughtwas that nothing made sense, and she went to sleep with asmile on her lips.

The morning broke dear and fresh. Turtle doves edgeddose to each other on the grass, touched beaks, andwarbled their foolish words of love. A miraculous dew, sofine that it had to be touched to be believed, laid a bloomon the leaves and misted the smooth red top of the stoepwall. The wind had died to a zephyr which murmuredseductively, yet it carried the cold sharp tang of stale woodsmoke down from the maize fields, an inexorable reminderto the three who breakfasted at the open window of thedining room.

Though Adrian made no significant reference to Kent’s visitto him the previous evening, his instructions that Renniekeep to the house today, and his refusal to debate literarymatters till evening, revealed a belated but sincere anxiety,Michael manoeuvring bacon and tomatoes with his lefthand, stated gloomily that he was no good to anyone,himself included. Only fools and knaves put themselves outof action when they were most needed.

"Never mind," Rennie consoled him. "You can still read andponder, and congratulate yourself that your fortune isn’t tiedup in a maize farm."

"I hate lounging around, doing nothing," he said. "If you’reabsolutely sure I’m superfluous, I'll take sandwiches andclear off for the day. I can still walk!"

Rennie did not discourage him. She felt sure that Kent'saversion to Michael was merely a masculine kind ofdistrust, but even so it would be more comfortable all roundif the two seldom met. For Kent was coming today, to bringPaddy, and Rennie purposely wore a frock of blue andwhite stripes, with a ribbon in her hair and white sandals.

Michael shouldered his picnic meal and a couple of books,borrowed a stick and set off. Adrian came back from hisearly duties to fill his tobacco pouch, and lingered over acup of coffee.

Presently he said: "I’m going to sell my first editions,Rennie. That old judge we met at the Yachting Club wasmad to have them, and he'd pay a big figure—enough toput us back where we were last spring. It'll be good to havea few pounds in the bank again."

"Your beautiful books! You can't do it."

He smiled. "That was my opinion, too, till last night. Sincethen they have become merely tomes of good value. I'mthankful I have them to sell, and to know of a man who willpay what they’re worth."

His studious casualness did not deceive Rennie. The firsteditions, which had taken him so long and so much troubleto collect, were part of his very existence. In the old days hehad cheerfully gone without many things a man needs inorder to purchase a treasured volume, and both Rennieand her mother had connived and schemed to help himacquire it. Normally, he was not acquisitive, nor did hedemand a high standard of living. But books, particularlythose mellow with age and rich with wisdom, werenecessary to his complete inner harmony. He loved his firsteditions individually, revered them, and counted himselfblessed to possess them. Rennie was determined tooppose their sale.

"Money will start coming in soon," she said. "With luck we'llreceive the cheque for the maize at the end of the month, or

very soon after. It won’t be so large as we expected, but itshould take care of expenses for a few weeks to come."

"And what then . . . mortgage or overdraft? No, my dear.For once, I’m looking ahead. We’ll start next season with aforeman, and plant every single acre, even the virgin tract atthe top. Kent says this farm could be made to yield aworthwhile living, and from now on I intend to devote myselfto it."

"But, darling, only a short time ago you admitted yourself nofarmer and talked of leaving Mayenga. What about thelecture tour?"

"Pipe dreams." He smiled at her affectionately. "Who everheard of a scholarly boer? You can't mix two suchprofessions and excel at both ... or even one."

"But the agent wrote that the tour will remain open for thewinter months. A round fee and expenses paid."

"And back to Mayenga? It wouldn't do, Rennie. It’s one orthe other, and after long and serious consideration of all theaspects, I've chosen farming. I'll go and see the judge aboutthose books on Sunday morning."

Adrian could be surprisingly stubborn when he liked. Sheknew he would hand over the first editions without a quiverand school himself to forget them, but her heart ached forthe subsequent void their loss would create. She wouldn't

let him do it.

Yet, with the elasticity of youth, she could not be cast downfor long. Kent came, and she experienced the amazinglysweet pleasure of giving him lunch, and having him stretchhis legs in the easy intimacy of the lounge. Hecomplimented her on a lightning recovery.

"But I’d like to see you rounder," he added critically. "Yourbones are too sharp and your eyes too big . .. like lakes.You need to be cosseted for a spell."

"My father has the same idea. He’s forbidden me to gobeyond the dairy and talks of employing a foreman. Wecan’t afford it, of course."

"You don’t have to decide at once."

"But he has decided, and there seems to be no putting himoff." She looked across at him in sudden hope. "You likebooks, too, don't you?"

The dark brows twitched. "A somewhat sudden change oftopic."

"It isn’t really. You’ve seen my father’s first editions. Whatdo you think of them?"

"Collectively?"

"Yes. Are they worth much?"

"I’m not acquainted with today’s prices for such things, butthey're probably worth quite a bit. Surely he's notcontemplating getting rid of them?"

She nodded. "But I can't let him. He loves them so much.That beastly judge is after them."

"The judge isn’t at all a bad chap," he said mildly. "WantingAdrian’s books doesn’t turn him into a fiend. Still, if that'sthe way it is, he shan’t have them. Whatever he offers, I’llraise him."

"I ... I didn’t mean that," she stammered. "I hoped you'd saythey weren't worth much—except to my father. He mightbelieve that, if you said it, and refuse to take the judge'smoney."

"You can bet that Adrian has a shrewd notion of the value ofthe books." He got up and stood beside her chair. "I’ll try todissuade him, but if I can’t, who would you prefer to havethem—the judge or me?"

His brown, fleshless hand hung loosely, not far from hercheek; his nearness caused her heart to cease for aninstant, then to beat too fast. She shook her head a littlevaguely, but did not speak.

"Leave it to me," he said, guessing her answer. "You’re

both coming to dinner tonight. I’ll take soundings."

Much though she wished it, he would not allow her to go tothe car with him. Kent was incapable of fussing; he couldmake her obey him without it.

How he handled her father that evening she did not know,but the precious books remained locked up in Adrian’sbedroom, and he himself had a lighter step and a gleam inhis eyes. He teased her about Kent's frequentappearances at the farm, and when she colored his glancewent tender and a little apprehensive.

Under Kent’s expert hand their agricultural problems alsosmoothed out. In no time at all the maize was cleared andtransported, the hay from it stored in a symmetrical stack atthe back of the sheds. Weeds were turned in and rich darkfurrows appeared at the top of the plantation where rawveld had been. The irrigation was overhauled and pipelinesput in, windbreaks were planted, the tracks between fieldsfortified and levelled, the native huts scoured out anddisinfected ready to receive new workers.

With his tongue in his cheek Kent instructed Maxwell to setout a row of oak saplings, two thousand feet long. He wasgetting all his own way on the farm and, gently mocking, helet Rennie know it.

One day he canoed her up-river to inspect, from the water's

edge, his newly acquired forest. Here was nature at itsmost awesome. Mahogany with buttressed roots,cottonwood and teak, immense in girth, with slim seedlingsbetween them reaching avidly and uselessly for sunshine.The dense growth among the trunks was dark andsucculent, except where the parasite vines had twisted theirgreat strong branches and sent out mighty, pale greentendrils. The few flowers were huge and exotically perfect inshape, but frail from the dimness and excessive moisture.Because Rennie admired them, Kent leaned perilouslyfrom the boat and plucked a few blooms, but even as shecaught them they wilted, and he made her toss themoverboard and wash her fingers free of the heavy sap, incase it should contain poison.

After an outing with Kent she wore her joy like a warm,caressing cloak which shut out the shrewd winds of doubt. Itwasn't important that he never took her into Gravenburg, norinvited her to the polo. She had no right to question hisreasons. Sufficient that she saw him almost every day, thathis manner was invariably warm and friendly, and that abond, however tenuous, existed between them.

Michael's varying moods passed her by. She had typed histwentieth chapter and he had air-mailed the parcel ofmanuscript to his associate in London. He still worked, buterratically, as though he had to drive himself. The secondhalf of his story depended more on his knowledge andexperience than on Adrian's historical data, for his

heroine's children were growing up and posing problems;an exacting task for an older hand than Michael.

Quite often, bang in the middle of a morning's writing, hewould give up and borrow the car for a drive into town.Adrian dismissed his restlessness as due to temperamentand uncertainty; Michael would settle again once hereceived an independent opinion of his novel's chances. Abreak from the rigid routine of the last couple of monthsmight freshen his mind.

With less to do on the farm, Rennie began to occupy herselfwith the womanly pursuits which she had always enjoyedbut hitherto had to neglect through lack of leisure. Shewashed the wide vellum shades of the bedroom lamps, andrepainted the sprigs of peach-blossom on them. From asmall tea chest and a length of cottage-weave tweed shecreated a box ottoman which so pleased her that shecoaxed George into knocking up another wooden box, inorder that a similar cushioned receptacle for large oddsand ends could be placed in Adrian’s room. A

lard pail, cleaned and painted, provided by Michael with along overdue waste-basket and she spent two contentedafternoons finishing a woolwork picture which she hadactually started eighteen months ago, in the hotel atDurban.

Then there was the large cream linen bedspread, a white

elephant from the case of furnishings which they hadbrought with them from England. It provided a table-clothand six napkins, and enough hemstitching to keep Renniebusy for several days.

One afternoon, as she sat on the stoep drawing threads,Rennie heard a car and looked up, the familiar leap ofgladness in her veins. But it was not the long, maroon carwhich rounded the drive. A dusty little sports model spedright up to the steps, and Jackie got out. Jackie, in asparkling white frock with an amethyst pill-box attached toone side of her black curly head, and suede sandals tomatch. She always contrived to appear as if she had juststepped from a Continental express.

Quenching a tiny thrust of premonition, Rennie extendedcordial hands.

"Lovely to see you, Jac. It’s nearly three weeks since youwere last here. Sit down and tell me what you’ve beendoing."

"Rennie, you sweet!" After this extravagance, Jackie tookup from a grass chair a square of material. "Hope chest,darling? It looks like it."

"Hope chest nothing. Our table linen gets scrubbedthreadbare by the boy, so I’m fixing some cheapreplacements. Nothing in the least romantic about that! You

don’t seem to have brought your mother."

Jackie smiled impishly. "There are ways and means, andI’ve learned them all. No menfolk?"

"My father's doctoring a cow and Michael’s hard at it. Liketo see him ... Michael?"

Jackie pouted engagingly. "Don’t taunt me, Rennie. I’dcome oftener if Michael weren’t living here."

"He's terribly correct when you do meet. I’m afraid he’sfalling out of love with you, Jac."

Jackie opened her dark eyes to their fullest extent. Ratherprimly, for one whose conventions were occasionallyelastic, she answered: "That is very wise of Michael. I needno longer be sorry for him."

"Were you?" Rennie hoped she did not sound sarcastic.

"But of course! I’m not heartless, and Michael is rather alamb, in spite of being a writer. Tell me, Rennie... is thebook good?"

"Remarkably so. It’s sure to be accepted and my fatherdoesn’t doubt that he’ll land a contract, but writing alonewon't bring in much—not what you’d call much. It takes timeto acquire a literary

reputation."

"Depressing, isn't it, considering his toil." Jackie assumeda pretty frown. "Poor Michael. He sent me such charmingletters; you wouldn't credit the tenderness andunderstanding he put into them." Her expression childishlygrave, she went on: "He needs a practical wife, one whocan be patient and stretch the pennies till he's famous. Ifloving me has inspired him, I'm thankful."

One couldn't be irritated with Jackie for long. She might beinconsequent and use others to further her little schemesand at times her head might seem rather empty, but therewas a disarming streak of honesty in her composition.

"I really came about the party, Ren. It's a dreadful nuisance—my father can't break away from business just now.Adela’s furious."

"What a pity. Your twenty-first, too. Are you going aheadwith the arrangements?"

"We can't do otherwise. The invitations are out and theparty only a week away. Adela is convinced that he's beingdeliberately awkward because she hasn't yet joined him inCape Town. I'm rather sick about it. Pop and I have alwaysbeen good friends."

"Couldn't you write him a pleading little note?"

"Done already, my pet, but no go. He replied to Adela, notme, and accused her of keeping me here against my will.All very confusing, of course. They're awfully fond of eachother and have never been parted so long before, but hewon't give in to her this time. Adela, poor darling, can’tmake out what's biting him. She’s blaming me for it —saysI've been writing to him on the quiet, and giving him anentirely wrong impression. Did you ever hear such a thing!"

Was Jackie a shade too innocent-seeming? Yet what couldshe possibly expect to gain from a rift between herparents? Rennie gave it up.

"I had to slip along to tell you, Ren. We've loads of friends intown, but none of them is so sympathetic a listener as you.Isn't it heavenly to think we shall always live close to eachother—till you marry, that is? You're so expert inhousekeeping that I shall always be dropping in to see you,and begging you to put me wise about everything. Kentknows I'm a hopeless cook."

A treacherous sword pierced Rennie's heart.

"His boys are . . . well-trained," she said,

"I suppose so, or he wouldn't keep them. What a man he isfor law and order." Her head went on one side as thoughshe were visualizing something. "The whole house is tooformal. I shall have multi-colored cushions in the lounge and

brighten up that blackwood dining-room with pink muslincurtains and frilly electric fittings. And don't you adore thoseplastic materials with comic patterns for the bathroom?Men haven't the least idea how to make a house look cosyand inhabited, I told Kent so only last night."

"Did he agree?"

"He laughed, and admitted the place needed softeningtouches. We had some fun with paper and pencil,rearranging the furniture."

"Do you love him very much, Jackie?"

"Darling," said Jackie, with a brilliant smile and a blink ofblack lashes, "we're crazy about each other, but we won’tmake a public announcement till my father and mother havesettled their differences."

"So you're ... terribly happy?"

Jackie’s response was heartwhole and spontaneous."Happier than I’ve ever been in my whole life. I’m just achingto get married."

Rennie forced the requisite smile, the banal wishes thatJackie was waiting for, and then she called George andordered tea. Soon, Adrian came sauntering into the stoep,and Michael, his straw-toned hair harassed, his shaggyeyebrows pulled all ways, groaned his way into the open air

and cursed his foggy brain and the heat.

Sedately, Jackie greeted him, let her eyes rest for amoment on his untidiness, and then she turned pointedly toAdrian and asked—of all things—how was the cow!

It was not till Jackie was leaving that she burst out contritely:"Ren, darling, I quite forgot. I heard about the ghastly fire.What perfectly dreadful, luck. As though it isn’t bad enoughliving on a farm, without having the wretched stuff burn upon you and lessen your profits. Kent’s been helping you,hasn't he?"

"Yes."

Jackie raised a scarlet-tipped finger to tickle Rennie’s chin.

"Keep it on a business footing, sweetie-pie. Don't makeJackie jealous." She waved to Adrian and Michael, and gotinto the sports car. "So long, everyone. See you all a weektomorrow at the Carlton."

She was gone, and Rennie went back to fold her linen andpile the cups back on to the tray. Michael, as though in animaginative trance, stared out at the acacia hedge andmoved his lips, shaping a sentence. Rennie did not lookher father's way.

She put the needlework into a drawer in her bedroom, andstood beside the Dolly Varden, seeking its edge for

support. Jackie in bridal white with Kent at her side. Analtar decked with glorious African flowers; sonorous musicand solemn, heart-shaking vows. Kisses andcongratulations, Jackie in Kent's arms....

Rennie dabbed her handkerchief to her lips, looked at,without seeing, a bright stain where she had bitten throughthe skin. A fine

sweat dewed her temples, but she wasn’t trembling. On thewhole, she told herself, she had taken it remarkably well.

All that mattered now was that no one should guess thatRennie Gaynor had fallen irrevocably in love with KentBradfield.

CHAPTER TWELVE PERHAPS it was fortunate forRennie that Mr. Morgan came out to the farm the followingmorning. He arrived in his handsome, if rather outmoded,navy blue car, and, to save himself exertion, drove right upto the foot of the steps. Previously, the old bookman hadresisted Rennie’s attempts at hospitality. Motoring outsidetown, he said, filled his lungs with dust and pollen, causinghim sleepless nights.

Today, however, he appeared to have forgotten the threatto his health, for he beamed as he panted into the stoep,and bent interestedly to peer at the title of the book whichRennie had just laid upon the table.

"How sweet of you to call," she said, at once placing a chairfor him. "Sit down, Mr. Morgan, and I’ll send for my father."

"Don’t trouble him yet, Rennie." As he carefully sank downhis tone was expansive. "I'm not averse from youngfeminine company. Yes, my dear, I will have a cup acoffee."

While she ran indoors to prepare it, he gave indulgentattention to her reading matter. It pleased him that she hadchosen a love-story; he didn’t care for the type of youngwoman who never read except to improve herself.

Rennie slipped back into her position at the table. "Myfather will be along soon. He’ll be pleased to see you hereat last."

"I hope so, because I want his help." The small eyes shonein his ruddy countenance. "Gravenburg has reached amilestone, Rennie. Believe it or not, we are now to have apublic library. To me, it’s like a dream materializing."

Automatically, Rennie said, "I’m so glad," and strove to casther thoughts back to other conversations on the subject.How remote everything had become—everything but thefarm and her own heartache. "Tell me about it."

"We have the building, if you remember — my own brotherwilled it to be used as a town library — but the trouble hasbeen to accumulate enough cash to fill it with shelves and

books. Over the last year various activities have brought inabout a thousand pounds—a useful amount but not nearlyenough. At that rate it would have taken us five years tomake a start. So a couple of weeks ago we openedsubscription lists in the clubs and the two hotels. Theresponse was so good that last night a few of us older onesgot together and decided to form a committee. I’ve comethis morning to invite Adrian to a seat on that committee."

Loath to dispel the pure pleasure in the friendly old face,Rennie used the pause to remove several objects from thetable, and to set it at a more convenient angle.

"I’d like him to accept," she said, "but I doubt if he will. Yousee, he’s busy on the farm and terribly tired in the evenings.And he and Michael still work together. At the moment,additional duties would only worry him."

"Oh." Mr. Morgan sounded nonplussed, as if he hadn’tvisualized a refusal. "I’d been counting on Adrian. Heknows the book-lending business from cover to cover, and Iwas sure he’d give us a hand."

Recent experience had made Rennie sceptical. "Giving ahand," she thought, was hardly the phrase to describe whata committee of sportsmen would expect from the onlymember among them who had complete knowledge oflibrarian-ship. But she knew that her father would happilyand voluntarily have yielded himself to the task. It did seem

a pity that he should be tied to uncongenial physical laborfor mere money. When she was off guard a bitternesssometimes rose in her against Kent for his high-handedinterview on her behalf with her father. Now, Adrian neverfor an instant permitted himself to forget that he was theprovider and Rennie his dependent.

"He’d be pleased to help in the selection of books," shecommented, and was relieved to hear the houseboy’sapproach through the hall.

The cups had just been set out when Adrian turned up.Pouring coffee, Rennie watched him and noticed, as heexchanged remarks with Mr. Morgan, that the lines at hismouth took an upward slant, and his fingers locked togetherin front of him in the way they often did when he wasengrossed in something pleasant.

He said. "This is great news. I’ve insisted all along that atown the size of Gravenburg should have a public library.How much money have you gathered?"

The bookseller warmed again. "A little over three thousand,and a few more hundreds promised. Incredible, isn't it, in afortnight? We're not asking for financial aid from you,Adrian, nor would we accept any of your precious collectionof volumes. But we do need your advice and counsel. Thedecision to beg you to join us was unanimous."

"I'll do what I can—answer your queries about a lendingsystem and prepare a list of indispensable literature; as tomodern fiction and biography, you know more about thetownspeople’s tastes than I do."

"But will you join the committee?"

"I wish I had the time. I shall be more free later on, when weemploy a foreman again."

"This is urgent. We've already planned a meeting for thisevening." Animatedly, he leaned forward. "Come to the firstdiscussion, and then resist our appeal if you can!"

Adrian looked across at Rennie, his expression calm andreassuring. To Mr. Morgan he replied: "I’m sorry. For awhile now the farm must come first. In any case, my freehours are promised to Michael Rogers." Humour glintedfrom his eyes. "What about enrolling Rennie? She's asconversant with library methods as I am."

Both Rennie and Mr. Morgan stared at him. Then the oldman gave a chuckle of laughter.

"Why not indeed! For the time being she can keep yourseat for you, Adrian. She’s just what we need to put life intoour debates. At present our only woman member is themayoress, a person of large heart and dimensions but littlelearning. What do you say, Rennie?"

"That you’re both crazy."

"Not a bit of it. You’ll delight every one of ’em. I'll send myboy out for you after dinner."

"But, Mr. Morgan... "

"Think a little, Rennie," her father interrupted. "This will giveyou a chance to make new contacts of the right kind. It’swhat you’ve had to do without since living at Mayenga.You'll get immense enjoyment from the committee meetingsand be able to offer constructive ideas. After all, you weremore intimate with the filing and indexing than I was andyou had contact with the readers. You could give the sort ofhelp such a scheme requires."

Rennie hesitated. Since Jackie's visit yesterday she hadbeen in the grip of a strange apathy. It wouldn’t last, ofcourse; it was merely a temporary relief from pain, andwhen the pain returned she would be grateful for demandson her mental and physical energies.

"Very well," she said quietly. "I’ll come this evening, Mr.Morgan. At any rate, my father will get a kick out of hearingabout the proceedings at second hand."

Presently Mr. Morgan headed his ponderous vehicle out tothe road, and Rennie was left moodily contemplating thedistant boababs while Adrian smoked his first pipe of theday and lay back in his chair sharing the vista with her. She

guessed that he was immersed in the library project; beforethe coming of Michael he had often scribbled notes for sucha scheme.

As though divining the trend of her thoughts, he said: "I'llfind that exercise book which I filled with high-falutin' notionsabout a book-lending centre for Gravenburg. You may hitupon a bedrock suggestion here and there."

Rennie murmured agreement. George slouched across thegarden to pick fruit for the dessert dish, which reminded herthat soon she must go in to see about lunch. Suddenly, shewished intensely that a single extravagance werepermissible: a meal at an hotel and a long ride through thebush after it. Then she recalled that next week they weredue to dine with the Catons and the wish died. What agood thing that her appointment tonight was atGreenwood's Hotel and not at the Carlton.

She had pushed back her hair and gathered together herbook and a pile of mending when Michael braked the carinside the gate.

"Hello," he called, as he loped up. "I passed our elderlybookseller on the way here. He called out something aboutgood news and said I must escort you this evening. Whatwas he babbling about?"

Rennie explained. She did not remind him that these days

her father was only free for him in the evenings. Whyshouldn’t Adrian be allowed a few hours of completerelaxation and solitude?

"Might be fun," Michael conceded. "I have an affection forGreenwood’s, in spite of the grim atmosphere of the place.Remember how we met in the deserted lounge?"

She smiled. "You looked so shaggy-browed and tenaciousthat my heart dipped right into my shoes."

"You and Jackie changed my life that night."

In no mood for reminiscing, Rennie took a last glance overthe chairs and table and made a decisive move to goinside. "Life’s odd, isn’t it?" she remarked, without interest"Please yourself about tonight, Michael."

Extraordinary how cold and withdrawn she felt from theeveryday chores in the house. From habit, that evening, shebathed and changed into a fresh frock, and carefully madelight use of cosmetics. At dinner she ate her normal portion.Custom is a stout spar in an unfriendly sea.

Amiably astounded at the prospect of several hours alone,Adrian settled comfortably with a couple of volumes besidehim on the chesterfield, and contentedly waved Rennie andMichael off to the meeting. During the afternoon Rennie hadread over her father’s notes and jotted down thosesuggestions entailing small expenditure. She hoped that

the elderly committee would regard her as a negligibleaddition to their number and gently ignore her, butconsidered it safer to be prepared for the opposite.Desultorily, in the back of Mr. Morgan’s car, she debatedthe points with Michael, and his blithe agreement with everyone of them gave her confidence.

The lounge at Greenwood’s had an air of subduedbusyness. The old colored wine-waiter hobbled betweenthe bar and two tables surrounded by some of the town’ssportsmen and business men. Mr. Morgan effectedintroductions, Rennie sipped a cocktail and was eventuallyescorted to the large stuffy room reserved for boardmeeting and other conclaves.

Across the broad table from Rennie sat the plump andfriendly mayoress and, just as the proceedings were aboutto be opened, the chair next to the mayoress was taken —by Kent Bradfield.

This was something with which Rennie had not reckoned,though, with fatal acceptance, her whole being steeled tohis presence. What more natural, after all, than that Kentshould be brought in to leaven the preponderance ofyachtsmen and bowling-green enthusiasts?

"Good evening, everyone," he said. "Sorry to be late." Andwith a half-teasing, diagonal smile: "Well, Rennie. Iunderstand you're our most important member."

She smiled briefly, saw Kent's gaze shift to Michael at herside and could almost hear his unspoken sarcasm: Whatwas Gravenburg coming to when a visitor to the district wasinvited to sit in on a discussion affecting the stablepopulation?

The preliminaries took half an hour. All the older men statedtheir views and were listened to with respect. It was Kentwho looked at his watch and mentioned that Rennie washere to give her own and her father's slant on the subject.

Natural courage kept her voice low and steady. She readout Adrian's notes and amplified them, finishing with herown opinions about fees and fines.

Applause was courteous and wholehearted.

Someone asked: "The system you describe, Miss Gaynor— is it at present in use in England?"

"It isn't quite the same. Our library was financed by theborough out of local taxes, and no subscription wasdemanded. The bookkeeping involved was negligible."

Kent leaned over, his smile pleasantly mocking. "Do youseriously believe, Miss Gaynor, that the library will attractthree thousand subscribers when it becomes known that asum of fifteen shillings will be charged annually?"

"Why not?" Her chin was raised, though she looked beyond

"Why not?" Her chin was raised, though she looked beyondhim. "The fee will entitle anyone to a book every day of theyear, if he likes, and to the use of the reading-room andreference books,"

"Gravenburg is a sprawling country town—most of it a goodway from the centre—and so far Mr. Morgan has suppliedall that is needed in the way of literature."

"He can’t sell more than two novels or one biography forfifteen shillings."

"You forget," said Kent blandly, "that the South African is anoutdoor man and periodical-minded. We here," hegestured lazily, "happen to be a few who value books andcould envisage nothing more stultifying than to be withoutthem, but the majority of the public will always absorbshipments of English and American magazines, and theywill buy a best-selling novel rather than wait in a queue toborrow a copy. Have you seen the library statistics of othertowns?"

"No," she answered, a trifle shortly. "My father worked onEnglish figures."

"I'm afraid they won't do in this country. In most cases, lessthan ten per cent of the white population patronize libraries,and the proportion lowers when the fee goes above tenshillings. At the best you can reckon on twelve hundredsubscriptions of ten shillings —six hundred pounds a year."

Rennie shrugged. "Have it your way. The counter was myjob, not the cash box." Averting herself from Kent'ssharpened scrutiny, she turned to Mr. Morgan and went on:"I'd love to help in forming the children's section. Voluntarily,of course. By restricting hours to afternoons only, we mightattract other assistance. I'd gladly put in three afternoons aweek."

"Wonderfully kind of you, my dear."

"Much too kind," said Kent, rather quickly. "But I think itwould be wiser to begin as we intend to go on. I'd soonerwe engaged a married woman for the purpose. A part-timeassistant need cost no more than ten pounds a month."

"A hundred and twenty a year!" Rennie flashed back.

"The advantages are worth it," he countered with watchfulsmoothness. "Children would make friends with her andbeg advice. The right woman, always available, is much tobe preferred to a succession of voluntary helpers."

Rennie was silent. As usual, Kent was right; he had theknack of seeing all sides of a subject almostsimultaneously. A sense of inadequacy welled up in her.She had to quell an urge to get up and leave the men tomake their own conclusions. Idiotic and shattering camethe thought that by the time the library was ready to belaunched Kent and Jackie might be married; perhaps

Jackie, as the wife of a generous donor, would be calledupon to assist the mayoress at the opening ceremony.

Mr. Morgan was tenting his fingers on the table and saying:"It's agreed, then, that all necessary stationery and printingbe put in hand, and a carpenter be given the dimensions forindex cabinets and drawers. I will send off the first list ofbooks to the wholesaler within the next two days."

After this had been approved, it seemed that the meetingwould end. Then, with complete artlessness, Michaeloffered a brainwave.

"With books and furnishings at present level," he said,"three or four thousand will soon be swallowed. Why nothold a series of dances and talent contests to bring in moreshekels?"

For fully thirty seconds no one spoke. A self-conscious flushcrept into Michael’s cheeks, and for his sake Rennie foundherself exclaiming:

"That's a splendid idea. I feel sure the younger set wouldrespond, and the publicity might help to swell both the fundsand the numbers of potential subscribers."

Mr. Morgan gave a doubtful laugh, and others murmuredand smiled. One man asked if Michael could sound someof the young people at the tennis club and report theirreaction.

Before he could reply Kent broke in, his voice clear andcrisp. "We're not starting a circus, are we? Let us keep ourdignity, even if it costs us more from our private pockets."

He was seconded, somewhat apologetically, by the obeselady on his right.

"Culture doesn’t really mix with talent contests and all that,does it, Miss Gaynor?" the mayoress pleaded. "The mayorand I will willingly give another cheque for a hundredpounds."

Michael's color deepened, and Rennie felt a sort of angerburning in her own face. Kent needn't have put it just likethat, making Michael appear cheap and youthful. He was,of course, demonstrating his contempt for the onlycontribution to the matter which the young man hadattempted How she wished Michael had stayed away thisevening.

The moment eased. Involuntarily, Rennie met Kent’samused eyes and returned him a tight smile. When at lastchairs scraped and conventional chatter began, sheinevitably accepted his invitation to take a nightcap in thelounge.

Rennie drank her lime and soda laced with gin. Sheanswered Kent’s queries about the day’s work at the farmand heard, with joy and deep misgiving, his promise to

drive over to give Adrian a rest tomorrow.

"Did you and the novelist come in your bus?" he wanted toknow.

She shook her head. "Mr. Morgan sent for us. Michaelwasn’t there this morning when the arrangement wasmade."

"But he couldn’t resist horning in."

"You’re overdoing the cynicism, Kent. Michael wouldn’tcare if Gravenburg never had a library. Perhaps his part inthe debate was unfortunate____"

"Your agreeing with him was more so." The words held asting, but he was grinning slightly. "I’m sorry I had to squashthe splendid idea, but I knew you understood."

"Naturally." She inclined her head and tried to infuse hertones with his particular note of satire. "Just lately you’vehad your own way at

Mayenga both with my father and me, and you think thatentitles you to run our lives outside the farm."

"Now, now," he admonished her. "I refuse to fall out with youover a half-baked writer. And if I did put a stop to yourbecoming a library assistant and sweating yourself into afresh state of collapse, you should thank me—not bark at

me."

Carefully, she balanced her empty glass between fingerand thumb and watched its scintillations. Slowly, yet lightly,she enquired: "What sort of pleasure do you get out ofmanaging us, Kent? Or do you simply love to have powerover other people."

"Isn’t it a relief to be managed, for a change?"

She admitted it with a nod. "But your viewpoint is puzzling."

"So it should be, little one," he stated cryptically. Because ithappens to embrace the other end of the pole from yours.Have another drink?"

"No, thanks. I must be going."

Kent stood up. "I’ll take you home."

Her smile challenged. "Michael, too?"

"I suppose so, though for my part he could walk."

Good nights were exchanged with Mr. Morgan and hiscronies, and the three came out into a night that was chillyand thick with stars. Kent put Rennie into the seat besidehim and Michael got into the back. The car left the sidestreet for the main road and purred along between the linesof palms and jacarandas which cast black shadows over

the office buildings and shops back of them. The treesended and they ran into the well-lit centre of the town.

Rennie's heart began a gradual contraction and her sinewstensed. Soon they would pass the Carlton. Would Kentsuggest a quick drink with the Catons . . . and what wouldshe do if he did? An uncomfortable pounding set up in herbreast and a cool dew started at her temples. This wasfrightful, much worse than coping with Kent at Mayenga.

Then it was over. The brilliant facade of the Carlton wasbehind them and Kent had given it only an off-hand glance;

Michael said: "I expect Jackie’s in there dancing."

To which Kent replied, without turning: "The Catons are atthe Pinetree tonight. I had dinner with them. That’s whatmade me late at the meeting."

Rennie stared unseeing through the window. She could notdispel the mental vision of Jackie sparkling with emotionand crying out that she and Kent were crazy about eachother.

In a distant voice she said: "If you’re going back to thePinetree, you can leave Michael and me at the bridge."

Kent went on driving, his expression enigmatic. Michaelmade observations about the queer shapes of the treesand the unusual isolation of the Southern Cross in the

heavens, and quite soon they were over the Lamu andwinding towards Mayenga.

At the gate, Michael hopped out quickly and openedRennie's door. She stepped on to the grass.

"Thanks for the lift, Kent. Good night,"

She was halfway up the path, ahead of Michael, before thecar crunched away. Adrian had gone to bed, and Renniegratefully locked herself into the bathroom and dipped herface into a bowl of cold water. Dabbing herself dry, sheleaned against the wail, her eyes closed with the weight ofsickening pain.

Her father had pledged himself to concentrate on farmingfor one more season and it was her duty to stand by hisdetermination. But how in the world was she going to bearit?

CHAPTER THIRTEEN IRONICALLY, the very next dayAdrian received a letter through the agent in Cape Townfrom the college which had previously offered him thelectureship. Their syllabus, they informed him, was incourse of preparation, and if he wished his name to beincluded would he kindly post to them within the nextfortnight a complete list of the subjects with which heproposed to deal. Did he know, they enquired in the finalparagraph, that they would later be needing a permanent,

resident lecturer in English literature? They assured himthat his application, if he cared to submit one, would havethe utmost consideration.

Even before she took the letter from him Rennie saw hisquickly suppressed pleasure.

Looking up from the sheet of stiff paper, she said slowly,"Well, there’s your future, darling—just what you want. A tripround the chief towns in the Union followed by a snug

professorship. Mayenga might not sell for what we gave,but it will fetch enough to buy a house with a garden."

"There's a great deal to weigh up," he said cautiously. "I’vea hollow feeling that the farm would hang on the market along time. What with stalk-borer last year, and pest-riddencotton and the fire, Mayenga will have a bad name. Mostpeople are a little superstitious at heart. We'd make a muchbetter sale in a year’s time, after a successful season."

"This offer won’t be open then."

"No, but something else will turn up, or we might decide tostay on. We only need ordinary luck and Kent's assistanceto emerge on the right side. After all, we did come to SouthAfrica to farm, and we must

give it ample trial."

"It might be wiser to cut our losses and move out. If we livedin Cape Town I could get a job, too, and we’d have moneyto spend again."

"But would that make up to you for leaving Mayenga andthe friends you’ve made here?"

Rennie guessed that he alluded to Kent. Adrian was not theprobing type of parent, nor would he presume to advise heron a matter so delicate. But he was sufficiently of the earthto desire for her the normal woman's lot, the home andchildren without which no woman is completely fulfilled.

Since the evening of the fire, when Kent had come toMayenga and bitten out his anger that Rennie should havebeen allowed to work herself thin and nervy over the farm,Adrian had not only put in nine hours' hard work every day,but he had also forsaken his dreaming, and watched herclosely, missing none of the changes in her. It did not takehim long to divine that it was Kent who put the smile in hereyes and the curve to her lips. With the passing days herhappiness shone more brightly, and Adrian grew uneasier.Somehow, in his dealings with Kent, he had gathered andretained the impression of a womanless cynic, not at all thetype of man who should capture Rennie's heart.

Adrian liked Kent and respected him both as a forestryman and as a taster of good literature. But, being simple inhis own affections, he found it difficult to reconcile Kent with

the usual needs of the average man. Kent wasn't anaverage man; his code was individual and his manner withwomen—with Rennie, at least—had a baffling quality.

Adrian didn't like Rennie’s almost fatalistic urge to movefrom Mayenga. She was too fond of the district to leave itwithout a tremor, and he feared trouble of the mostshattering kind. He suspected that Kent, with ruthlesscandour, had characteristically used his cynicism as abludgeon to Rennie’s awakened emotions, and it woundedhim that she should be badly hurt.

That was why, when she smiled at his question and saidthat in Cape Town they would have more time to cultivate aset of friends, Adrian simply folded the letter and slipped itinto his pocket.

"We'll sleep on it a few nights," he said. "In any case, I won'thave you regard the matter entirely from my angle. It's youfirst this time."

Rennie could visualize no alternative to disposing ofMayenga. Not at once, perhaps, but before Jackie wasinstalled as mistress of Elands Ridge. There are somethings that the hardiest of flesh and blood cannot stand.

At the library committee meeting, Kent had promised tocome over to Mayenga today. She steeled herself. Theanguish was only just beginning. Kent had to be faced and

smiled at and, without unfriendliness, gradually shown thatAdrian and Rennie Gaynor thanked him for his help, butcould now manage without it.

All day she was keyed up for an encounter that did notmaterialize. Each time she cantered back to the house shebecame taut with anticipation. The sun went down, workwas over for the day, and it was time for her bath. Renniemade her way to the kitchen to speak to George about thedinner. There she stopped and stared, for Tanu, Kent’spersonal servant, stood at the back door, drinking the usualnative concoction of boiled sugar and water from George’smug.

"Tanu," she said blankly. "What have you come for?"

"Baas send me, missus." The mug was quickly dumped onthe draining-board. "Parcel for missus, please."

With two hands he picked up from the edge of the kitchentable a flat package about twenty inches square and, withsome reverence, presented it to Rennie. Both natives werewatching her, though not with so much curiosity as, in herhypersensitive condition, she imagine.

"The Baas needs an answer?" she asked.

"Him say a note for receive, please."

"Wait here, Tanu. I won’t be long."

She carried it into her bedroom and sat down. Her fingersfumbled with the string but at last it loosened so that shecould drag it off and fold back the paper.

In her lap lay a portrait in stamped leather, similar to the twoshe had many times admired in Kent’s lounge. This onewas of the head and shoulders of a piccaninny; grave-eyed,round-faced, his fine black wool uncannily lifelike, theshoulders gleaming as though polished with oil. The framealso was of a rich dark leather, faintly patterned.

Beneath it lay Kent’s note: "I ordered this for you some timeago, but it arrived only this morning. The young fellow iscute, isn’t he? Sorry I haven’t been able to get over today—have unexpectedly had to devote the whole day to two oldfriends from the coast. I’ll drive out early tomorrow, withoutfail."

Foolishly, knowing that the mere possession of it wouldbring more pain in time to come, she hugged the leatherportrait to her. He had ordered it from Johannesburgespecially for her, and lost no time in sending it.

Presently she got notepaper and envelope from the drawerready to write a polite word or two of thanks. Then sherecollected that her pen was in the dining-room, and shewent along to fetch it.

Michael was there, taking a glass of sherry. He grinned at

her, like a

boy caught stealing apples.

"I know the drink is low, but I just had to have one. In mystate I can't do without a tonic now and then. I'll try toremember to bring back a bottle or two next time I go totown."

"Celebrating something?"

"Not yet. I daren't even think along those lines. I've just hada long, stiff walk. Do you ever go to the river in the dark,Rennie?"

"I've often seen it from the car, but never walked there. Mypen is behind you on the sideboard, Michael May I have it?"

He passed it to her.

"It's odd," he said. "By night the stretch of river near thebridge has an English atmosphere. Trees arching overquiet water with the faint gurgle of the shallows up-river as abackground. It reminds me of a place near Bedford, where Iused to go hunting and fishing—except that the trees aretoo big and the smell is all wrong."

"Are you looking forward to going back to England?"

"I am, rather, though this is a grand experience, in spite of

disappointments. But I like my temperatures temperate,and an honest-to-goodness grey day full of drizzle now andthen. Here, everything is violent: the sun, the rain, the wind .. . everything. Three parts of the time it's an effort to think—at least, I find it so."

"Until recently you've been concentrating too much, though Isuppose the perpetual sunshine wouldn't suit everyone.How soon do you hope to hear from your colleague inLondon?"

"Hope hasn't anything to do with it. One just sits and waits."The subject irked him, and he changed it. "Kent Bradfieldhas a house-party tonight, hasn't he?"

"I don't know."

"I'm only guessing. I reached the Mayenga turn while it wasstill light, and a motorist pulled up to ask me the way toElands Ridge. The whole car-load were in evening get-up.So was Jackie."

"Jackie?"

"Yes," he said carelessly. "I saw her, too, racing past in oneof those borrowed limousines. It was dusk then, and shedidn't see me."

"Was she . .. alone?"

"Practically. Adele clung to the back seat."

Rennie said, "Dinner will be ready before we are. Excuseme, Michael?"

Back in her bedroom she sat down once more in front ofthe notepad, pen poised. As she arranged the facts in hermind a deadly calm settled over her. Kent's note hadmentioned nothing about a house-party but there was noreason why it should, particularly as Rennie had not beeninvited. Jackie was one of his guests, but what morenatural, if

they were in love?

Wasn’t it lucky, and perhaps ordained, that Michael shouldhave been in the dining-room just then, for now she knewexactly what to do about Kent’s gift. Having alreadyconcluded that the barrier must slide back between them,there was nothing for it but for her to give it the first,heartbreaking push.

Her pen moved: "Yes, the piccaninny is attractive and itwas good of you to send him, but I believe he’d feel more athome in your lounge with his two aunties than among chintzand pretty pottery. Thanks to you, Mayenga is now runningsmoothly, so please do not neglect Elands Ridge anylonger on our account."

Hastily, before she could change her mind, she sealed the

note in an envelope, which she thrust under the picturebefore wrapping and tying it up again.

Mystified, Tanu accepted the parcel.

"Give this again to the baas," she instructed. "Hurry. He willbe needing you."

When the boy had left she felt less desperate. The bath wascool and refreshing, and after dinner it was like old timeswhen her father and Michael delved into the technical andhistorical aspect of the final chapters of the novel, and shecurled in a chair near the open French window, stitching onbuttons and darning socks.

A couple of days loitered by; for Rennie they were so manydays less at Mayenga, so many days nearer liberation. Theviews from the house which had become so dear nowrasped her like a saw. She was beginning to loathe thegrass table and chairs, the red stoep wall and the youngjacaranda below it. Cape Town, she reminded herself, wasa large romantic city; full of color and history and setagainst the majesty of the famous Table Mountain. Perhapsmore than any town in South Africa it could boast cultureand cosmopolitanism, side by side. Adrian would wallow init—if only he could be persuaded that it were best to put upthe farm for sale at once.

Rennie drove into town to buy a chased silver candle-stick

for Jackie’s birthday, and on the way home she was twistedby the realization that it would grace one of Kent’s rooms atElands Ridge. Self-torture comes traitorously easy to thesick at heart.

She left it till the morning of the party before lifting herevening dress from its cardboard box for ironing. WhenAdrian had made the wardrobe he miscalculated the heightby six inches, so that her sole floor-length dress crumpledround the hem when hung. Cheerfully, Rennie had folded itinto the box, for she wore it seldom.

She sat back on her heels, slipped a forefinger into each ofthe outmoded puffed sleeves and held it up. Heavens! Shedropped it as though it were alive, took the shoulders againbetween finger and thumb and distastefully raised thegreen silk to eye level. The frock fell apart as if it had beencut with scissors. From one corner of the square neckdiagonally across the bodice and into several inches of theskirt a channel had been chewed by fish-moth. At least, shesupposed it must have been fish-moth, for three of the silvercreatures were skimming like mad round the lid of the box.

The appalling discovery had an element of deliverance: asfar as Rennie was concerned Jackie’s party was off.

When Adrian was shown the dress he wrinkled hisforehead.

"You have so few diversions. Couldn’t you go out and buysomething this afternoon ?"

"Even if I could get the right fit at such short notice, we can’tafford the guineas," she said. "Jac won’t miss me, and Iwasn’t dying to attend—her friends in Gravenburg are allstrangers to us. Would you like to go with Michael?"

"God forbid! We'll be gracious and send him as ourrepresentative."

"I wonder how we can let her know there’ll be two lessbefore this evening?"

"Two from sixty will hardly notice. Michael will be diplomaticfor us."

But Michael, when he, too, had marvelled at thegeometrical destruction of the frock and suggest somemasculine and totally impossible renovations, decided thatJackie’s function could proceed without him.

"Why should I droop about on the fringe of her party like adeflated spare tyre?" he demanded. "She’ll wear somecreation worth a year's income to me, and Kent Bradfieldwill be there, the rich, handsome hero in possession. No,thanks. I’d have put up with it if you were going, but I refuseto attend merely to make up the number."

"Don’t you intend giving her a little birthday present?"

"What would you suggest—a hanky with I love you’ in thecorner, or the pearl necklet pinned into the shape of aheart?" Michael laughed indifferently. "We’ll send her anote; in fact, I’ll leave it at the Carlton, if you like, on my wayto the bookshop."

"Is that all Jackie’s twenty-first birthday means to you,Michael?"

"What of it?" He sounded defiant. "Would you hang on tosomeone who’d shown you the door?"

"No," she sighed. "I wouldn’t. I’ll let you have our little parceland apologies, and you must make sure that she getsthem. What time are you gomg?"

"Right away, or old Morgan will be closed. He’s the mostcasual bookseller I ever met. Since Gravenburg’s had aYachting Club and there’s a library in the air, he shoots offany old time. Can I get you anything?"

He backed out the car, came back for Jackie’s gift, andweighted it in one hand, his smile a little hard.

"I wish our absence were going to wring her heart," he said."You and she have grown apart. I almost wish you hadn’t."

Which was generous of Michael, but she was in no moodfor compliments. Rennie returned indoors, to hack away,

with unnecessary vehemence, at the ruined dress. Whatwas left of it would make a blouse to go with her black skirt.

Dusk came, and Rennie examined the casserole in theoven, and made a pawpaw salad; small dice of pawpaw,chopped banana, apple and nuts, a few grapes and Capegooseberries, all soaked in the juice from two largeoranges and liberally sprinkled with sugar. What a blessingthat fruit was plentiful and cheap, and that cream and buttercould be had fresh from their own dairy.

George, who had worked all afternoon in the garden, hadbeen given the evening off, so it took Rennie longer thanusual to ensure that everything was ready for dinner. On herway to her room she met her father, apparently looking forher. With an eager, almost boyish smile he grasped herwrist and pulled her to follow him.

"Come out to the shed and see what I’ve found."

"What is it?"

"Look for yourself. You’ll fall for it right away."

She ran after him, down the steps and along the back pathto where it branched to the first and larger storehouse. Thedoor was closed, and Adrian paused, with one hand upon itand the other raised, warningly.

"Gently now. Don’t scare the little chap."

"Darling, you’re so mysterious. Do open up."

But he was not to be hurried. Softly, he pushed the doorajar about a foot, and Rennie could see the dim yellow lightof the hurricane lamp he had left there. He stepped inside,beckoned her, and made fast the door.

Over in the corner, quivering against a bag of mealie meal,stood the smallest buck, Rennie thought, in the whole ofAfrica. His body was no larger than a sleek puppy’s, but hisskin was beautifully marked and his legs long and slender.

"The poor pet," she whispered. "Where did you find

him?"

"Just outside, in the fig thicket. I heard his bleating andsearched. "He’s

shy, but fairly tame. Think you could feed

him some milk?"

"I'll try. He looks such a baby."

"Probably a small breed. Duiker or klipspringer, or perhapsa type we’ve never heard of. Try to make friends with himwhile I get the milk."

Murmuring little sounds of endearment, she moved inch by

Murmuring little sounds of endearment, she moved inch byinch across the stone floor, and before her father returnedshe had stroked the shuddering back and got the softbrown eyes to turn her way.

It was some minutes before the buck would lick milk fromRennie's fingers, but apparently he took to the taste, for hebent to lap from the pan.

"You see?" said Adrian. "He's not so young as he looks.We'll shut him up tonight and let him roam tomorrow. If hecares to make his home with us, we won’t object. Comealong, my dear."

"In a minute. He’s so sweet that I hate to leave him. It wouldbe a pity if he got frightened again. You go, if you want to, I'lllock up."

"All right. Don’t forget the lamp."

Patiently, sitting cross-legged in the dust, she encouragedthe buck to lick the pan dry. His nose was wet andquivering, and he smelled of the warm living things of theearth. She talked to him in a crooning undertone, till heblinked, and let himself down on to the sack she had placedfor him. When she stopped stroking, his head came up todemand more. As imperious as a human baby, she thoughttenderly.

A sudden draught swept in, raising the dust and startling

the buck. Rennie looked up. For a second, stark frightstilled her breathing, but recognizing the tall dark figure inthe doorway as Kent’s, she took a small nervous breath ofrelief.

He came in, suave in his dinner jacket, and she was awarethat his sharp glance embraced the whole scene: thesleepy duiker and empty pan; Rennie beside him on thefloor, still in her working shirt and slacks, and very grubby;the shed palely illumined by the lamp which Adrian hadabsent-mindedly lodged in a dangerous position upon abag of mealies.

"Your father told me you were here," he said. "You bothseem to have forgotten the date."

Affecting not to see his proffered hand, she jerked to herfeet and pushed back her hair.

"You mean it’s Jackie's birthday. I hadn’t forgotten."

"It's seven-thirty. I thought you’d be changed and ready toleave."

"For the party? I . . . you didn’t say you’d come."

"Was it necessary?" His voice was cool, uncommunicative."It’s common sense that we should all go together in onecar. Will it take you long to dress?"

Her head averted, she answered. "I’m not going, Kent, noris my father. Jackie knows already."

There was a short, tense silence.

"May I know why?" he finally asked.

She gave a tiny, brittle laugh. "The silliest reason, yet asound one. Moth got into my solitary evening dress, and Ididn't find out till today.

So no party for Rennie."

This time the silence was unbearably long. The buckfidgeted, and Rennie went over to get the lantern. Kentturned and held open the door till she had passed through.Rennie’s free hand came up to slide the bar and snap thelock at the same time as Kent's; it was firmly, but notroughly, thrust aside.

In the same stretched wordlessness, they walked up thepath to the front drive. Kent opened the door of his car andswitched on the interior lights.

Half-savagely, he observed, "You could have knocked upsome other dress to wear if you’d wanted to. Womenalways can. There’s a deeper reason, isn’t there?"

"I can’t think up one," she said. "You can’t wear a makeshiftfrock at a twenty-first birthday party—it isn’t done, Jac will

understand. I wrote her this afternoon and promised to driveinto town tomorrow to see her presents and hear about theparty."

"You’re rather clever at note-writing." His tone was edged."Did Michael teach you how to wrap up a punch in a fewsyllables? You and he should collaborate."

Rennie could summon no immediate reply. Dispiritedly, shewatched the arc of the lamp she was holding swing over thegravel path.

"I'll get going," he said.

"I hope you’ll have a lovely evening . . . you and Jac," shesaid quietly. "I’m sorry you came out or your way to call. Imean . . ."

"Don’t elaborate," he answered abruptly. "So am I." And hegot into the car.

He backed and shot away. Rennie quenched the lanternand placed it on its hook in the stoep. The brief interviewwith Kent had left her tired and unhappy, and she had noheart for dressing and eating. He was hating her forreturning his gift, and she had no one to blame but herself.Well, the first step in the break with him had been taken,and the rest might now be less difficult.

C H A P T E R F O U R T E E N

Rennie did not hear about the birthday party from Jackieherself.

Obeying a summons to the bookshop which had beenconveyed by Michael the night before, she decided to

call in at the Carlton on the way. From the receptionist shelearned that the hotel had been unable to close its doors tillfour this morning, and that Miss Caton and her mother werestill sleeping. It seemed that Gravenburg had never beforewitnessed such a binge.

Rennie passed on to the peaceful atmosphere of thebookshop. With pride, Mr. Morgan displayed sample librarytickets and index cards, and she showed him how thethings were filed for easy reference. He had received largeparcels of books from various charitable sources, butbefore they were arranged he would like Adrian to comedown to the library to supervise the placing in position ofthe shelving. The modern stuff which had been orderedwould soon be arriving.

She nodded, exclaimed and smiled, and Mr. Morgan wassatisfied that she would do her utmost to coax Adrian intosharing his responsibilities.

But later something happened which drove the old man andhis pet scheme clean out of Rennie’s head. Adrian did notshow up for lunch.

As usual, the table was ready at one, and Rennie waited atthe dining room window, thinking of nothing in particular.After a while she consulted her watch. One twenty-five. Herfather was never so late as this. Normally, he was here bytwelve-thirty, to give himself ample time for a wash and arest before eating. Perhaps his horse had gone lame; hewas the sort to walk rather than add to a horse's pain.Though she hoped he was doing nothing so foolish. Even atthis season the midday heat was fierce.

Time crept on, and Rennie became furious with herself fornot having ascertained where he would be working thismorning. By a process of elimination she concluded thatthe cattle pasture was the likeliest scene of his activities,though he had mentioned the fact that the orchard neededpruning. Well, the orchard was just off the road to thepasture. She would saddle Paddy and ride out.

Ten minutes later she was cantering along the main paththrough the orchard, peering anxiously between the rows ofyoung trees. Of a couple of boys who were scything grass,she asked:

"Have you seen the baas?"

"Just this morning, missus, eight-nine o’clock." "He hasn'tworked here?"

"No, missus."

She rode on to the shed at the edge of the pasture. Thecowman was less blank to her enquiries.

"The baas, him here one hour ago. Then he say go forfood."

"He went this way?"— indicating the way by which she hadcome.

"Yas, missus."

Rennie pulled round the gelding. It would do no good topanic. Her father must have digressed on his way home; hemight even have met someone—though she couldn’t thinkof one person who would come out here to see him withoutcalling first at the house. She wished she had broughtMichael, and then it occurred to her that her father might bynow have reached home by another route. She goadedPaddy into a gallop.

With a sick sensation of thankfulness, she saw Adrian'shorse grazing among the shrubs in the garden, and she sliddown from Paddy and raced indoors.

The lounge door was wide, and Michael called urgently "Isthat you, Rennie? Come here, quickly."

She took a few steps into the room, stopped to fight down afresh surge of terror, and ran forward to kneel before the

chair in which her father was slumped,

"Darling, what is it..."

And then she noticed the puffy red rash both sides of hisneck, and the swelling of his hands. Swiftly, she turned toMichael:

"Get out the car and call a doctor—bring him back withyou."

"Get out. . . the car ... but take me with you," Adrianwhispered.

"You’re not fit," burst out Rennie. "We can’t tell what thismay be."

"We can, my dear." He had to take another breath beforehe could add: "It's a snake bite."

Rennie knew, by the sudden cold sweat at her temples, thatshe had whitened. For a long moment of suffocating fright,she stared at him, willing herself not to believe.

Then: "Michael ... the car! Doctor's don't often keep serum.We'll have to take him to the hospital."

Adrian managed the ghost of a smile. "That’s . . . what Ithought." After which he fell back and closed his eyes.

Rennie never did remember the details of the next twohours. There was the ride, when she sat with her father inthe back of the car, and tried to keep from looking at hisface, which was blue-tinged now, and purple where the rashhad been. Then their arrival at the hospital, and themaddeningly deliberate efficiency of the "casualty" nurses,male and female. Adrian was transferred to a mobilestretcher and wheeled away, and Rennie and Michael weretold that they might wait on a bench in the courtyard.

They sat silent, Michael smoking. Rennie made an effort torecall all the bits of information she had gleaned aboutsnake bite. She had read in the Gravenburg newspaperabout people dying of it, if they were not immediatelyattended to. She kept seeing Adrian lying blue and swollenand unconscious. It seemed impossible that they couldrestore him to the normal being he had been at breakfastthis morning.

She trembled, and Michael put an arm across hershoulders.

"Don't, Rennie. These hospitals are equipped for this kindof emergency."

"They're so long about it."

"Not so very. They'll have injected at once, and now they'rewatching results. Shall I go in and make enquiries

"Please, Michael."

But there was no news. They walked round the grounds andcame back again. This time, Rennie went into the little bareroom with Michael. The white-coated man in the smalloffice beyond a glass partition smiled and shook his head,Still nothing to report

Rennie sat in a hard chair, her hands gripped together onthe table. She didn't know what she was praying, nor wasshe aware that someone else had joined them, till Michaeldrew her attention.

She turned her head and looked blindly up at Kent. In a dulltone she asked: "What are you doing here?"

"The same as you," he said. "I called at the farm to leavesome special seed I'd promised your father, and the boytold me the baas was sick and gone to hospital, so I camestraight on. What's wrong with Adrian?"

She explained, and found herself examining his face forhopeful signs. Kent would have had some experience ofsnake bite.

"If you'd come to me," he said, "I'd have telephoned forserum, and he needn't have been moved."

"It didn't occur to me. Michael and I did very well." Shepressed a hand to her forehead, and her voice caught. "I

wish they'd hurry. Why don't they tell us something?"

"I'll find out," Kent answered, and boldly strode through intoa corridor.

Rennie remained with her forehead dropped into herhands, and Michael stood with his back to the room, hisgaze upon the cedars and palms in the courtyard.

Kent got results. He came back with one of the two doctorswho had been attending Adrian.

"I don't think you need worry, young lady," the man saidbreezily. "The swelling is already receding and your fatheris conscious. At his age these things take time. We'll keephim here overnight, and you may pick him up earlytomorrow afternoon."

Rennie's jaws were too rigid for immediate speech.

Michael said: "Thank you, sir. Thank you very much."

"May I see him?" she questioned quietly.

"Better not. He's exhausted. Will you excuse me?"

Rennie moved to the door and out into the sunshine. Thetwo men followed. She went over to the car.

"Will you drive again, Michael?"

"Of course." He opened the door for her. "Sink in."

"Just a minute." Kent, an aloof smile on his lips, had comebetween them. "Rogers can take your car, Rennie. Mine isequally comfortable, and I want a word with you," "I’m tired,Kent."

"I know. I'll get you home, quickly."

Michael's face was acquiring the awkward flush for whichKent had been responsible at the library meeting. He hadbeen so good and thoughtful that, to save him furtherembarrassment, she twisted towards the maroon car.

"See you later, Michael."

She was in her seat before Kent could help her, and haddrawn into the corner, as far from him as possible. Hecircled the hospital courtyard and glided out, well ahead ofthe Gaynor car.

"You've had an anxious time," he commented. "No one butyour father could have collected a snake bite in that way."

"In . . . what way?"

"Didn’t he tell you?"

"By the time I saw him he could hardly speak. Who told youhow he came by it?"

"He did, when I went through to the theatre just now. He wasin a bit of a sweat, so the doctors let him talk for aminute...."

"How does he look?"

"Not too bad, and improving all the time. His speech wasthick but quite lucid. He was frantic for me to make sure thatyou stay away from the dairy. Apparently there's a family ofsnakes in the cavity beneath the floor, and you’re not to gonear the place again till they're exterminated." He slanted aglance at her. "Adrian did a crazy thing. From the back ofhis horse he saw what he thought was a ringhals, and hisinterest in it outweighed his prudence. He got down tomake friends with the little fellow and was amazed to seetwo others shoot under the building. So amazed, in fact,that he stayed crouched long enough for the first chap tostrike," He paused. "When did you last go to the dairy?"

"Yesterday. How does one kill the things?"

"There’s only one way. Surround the building with boys ingumboots and leather gauntlets and smoke out the cavity.They'll evacuate and get it in the neck."

Rennie said nothing. Adrian owned the only pair of gum-boots at

Mayenga and there wasn't a leather gauntlet in the place.

"If you were to ask me, I'd bring the men and materials anddo the job for you," Kent mentioned softly.

"I daresay you've already given your word to my father," shereplied coolly. "I've no intention of pleading with you."

"If you hadn't had a fright and a bad afternoon," said Kentwith some force, "I'd shake some good feeling into you."

And there, for the present, they left it. The car sped roundthe Mayenga turn, over the bridge and up to the house.Rennie got out, gave him a chilly nod and leaned backagainst the gate to wait for Michael.

Through the car window Kent bluntly stated: "I'll be back inhalf an hour. See that you keep to the house."

Once inside the lounge, with her feet on a stool and Michaelpouring tea, Rennie had no desire to move. Michael,almost cheerful now that threatened tragedy had beenaverted, talked about "near shaves" and "incredible luck."Men didn't feel things as a woman did, thought Rennie; inany case, Adrian was neither Michael's father, nor Kent’s.

When the Elands Ridge lorry drove up Michael went out.Rennie could hear the natives chattering—probablycomparing their weapons—and the plodding of theirrubber-shod feet as they marched towards the dairy. Thenall was quiet.

They must have tackled the task at once, for quite soon ababel broke out, a cacophony of yells and screams. Thebravest native has a wholesale fear of snakes, and Renniedidn’t doubt that Kent would have to pay them plenty for thishour’s work.

Footsteps approached the lounge, and Kent looked in.

"Seventeen of them," he said. "Mostly babies. I've warnedthe boys to keep a look-out for a day or two, but there’snothing to be scared of now."

"I’m not scared."

"I suppose not—with Michael about" He paused "Yourealize he can't stay here tonight?"

Rennie hadn’t considered it "We’ll arrange something," shesaid. "He has friends in town."

"Well, I'll go now. Thanks for the sundowner."

The wine cupboard was empty, but Rennie didn't tell himso. She lay in her chair while he moved out to the stoep.Grief, and the sudden release from it, seemed to haveparalyzed her senses.

Kent spoke over his shoulder "I know you don’t wish me topick up

Adrian for you tomorrow. Probably you’d rather I didn’t evencall after he's home, but I’m afraid I shall. So long."

Rennie was spent. She gave Michael permission to use thecar and said goodnight to him, ate a little salad, and went tobed.

She was awake again at dawn, and her first eager thoughtwas of Adrian. Had he slept well, and did he feel liketackling a good meal? A year had passed since they hadgreeted each other at this time yesterday. Her father wasby no means a bustling man, but the house was dead, andexistence pointless, without him. He was all she had.

At noon Michael returned, and soon afterwards they bothset out for the hospital. Except for lines of weariness at hiseyes and a blotch of pink each side of his neck, Adrianlooked normal, but he was not allowed to walk to the car.The sister said firmly that he must take care for at least aweek; he was free of poison but the experience hadexacted its toll of his stamina.

So Adrian lay on his bed for a couple of days. Kent cameand had a talk with him, and the news of his misfortunemust have percolated through the town, for the large oldjudge brought some books and a fund of good stories, andMr. Morgan braved dust and pollen in order to gossip aboutthe library and join with Adrian in producing lists of the moreexpensive literature.

Since work had become anathema, Michael drove intotown each afternoon, either to tennis or to lend his strengthat the library. The fifth evening after Adrian’s mishap,Rennie had prepared dinner and changed her frock byseven o’clock, and she was pacing a little impatiently,wishing Michael would come. He knew that since Adrianhad to be in bed by nine, dinner must be early.

She walked into the empty lounge, increased the glow ofthe lamps and emptied the ashtray. At the sound of a carshe said, "It’s about time," below her breath, and crossedto the door.

As Michael burst in she stepped hastily out of his way.

"Rennie!" His eyes were dancing, his square jaws working."Rennie, it's happened. The cable from London."

It took Rennie some time to become infected with hisexcitement. "Good news? Oh, Michael!"

He tore the pink scrap from his pocket. "Read it. Isn’t itwonderful! I know it by heart and I still can’t believe it"

The cable said: "Have first-class publisher keen on thenovel and a film company interested. Fly home pronto andfinish the good work."

"Isn’t it astounding how things happen?" he exclaimed. "Butfor a stroke of sheer luck I might have had to go on stewing

till tomorrow for this."

She forbore to remind him that if he hadn’t known hewouldn’t have

minded.

"I was chowing with old Morgan in the shop," he went on,"when one of the post office clerks came in . . . you know,the short thin man who smiles a lot. He told me a wire hadjust been sent through for me, but that Mayenga was too farout for the boy to deliver tonight. I went back with him, andthere you are!" He stopped for a necessary breath. "I hadbother with the car battery, or I’d have got home sooner.Where’s your father?"

"In his room. He’s just taken a bath. He’ll be so glad for you,Michael."

He smiled into her face. "You’re the grandest couple, youand Adrian. I shall never forget how much I owe you, and if Iever get the chance, I'll put it into print."

"Please don’t. That would frighten us both. When will youleave Mayenga, Michael?"

"In about a week, certainly no longer. I travelled out light andhaven't bought much, so there'll be hardly more than mymanuscript and me."

"Are you going to tell Jackie?"

'"Jackie?" The unruly brows came together. "Probably. I’dlike her to know that I'm heading for success ... without herleading strings."

The knowledge that his work was to be rewarded seemedto sweep over him in a fresh wave of gratitude. Youthfully,he grasped Rennie’s wrists, as though he would have likedto dance her round the room.

"You were my inspiration, Rennie—not Jackie, but you.Remember that first evening in Gravenburg when I meant toget tight and you told me to cook up a plot for the novelinstead? And then you invited me out to meet your father,and agreed to let me live here. I wish it were possible tothank you, Rennie . . . really thank you."

She smiled, her red lips sweet. "Send me a copy of yourbook."

Unexpectedly, he tugged her close, put his arms about herand kissed her. Still holding her, he laughed shakily.

"When men are emotionally lost for words they have tokiss," he said.

Rennie stiffened. Kent had hinted the same. Kent! He wasthere in the stoep, looking in at them with a calm, mercilesscuriosity. And then he was gone.

She broke away from Michael and ran out.

"Kent!"

He strode down the path. Heedless of everything but theimperative urgency for some sort of explanation, she racedafter him.

"Kent, please stop."

He did. "Well?"

"Michael’s beside himself," she panted. "His book’saccepted."

"Congratulations," he said expressionlessly. "To all three ofyou. I came to see Adrian, but you can give him amessage. Tell him that I’m moving up-river in the morning tostart clearing the new plantation. Maxwell will be in chargeat Elands Ridge and will have instructions to do whateveryour father asks of him."

"Will you be away long?"

"Two or three weeks."

"Camping ... all that time?"

"I may drive in at week-ends for polo."

"Oh." Rennie fell back from the steely dislike in his eyes."I'll.. pass on the message."

"Thanks. Good night."

His car raced away. Rennie avoided the lounge. Sheskirted the house and entered the back door, into thekitchen. Mechanically, she prepared the trolley with platesand dishes and cutlery, and wheeled it into the dining room;placed dinner mats and laid the table. Adrian came in,sniffing ostentatiously.

"My appetite must be returning. It smells like a genuineEnglish mix-up of beef and vegetables," he smiled. "You’recertainly good with a casserole, Rennie."

His geniality, though precious to her, was hurtful. Everythinghurt.

"Heard Michael’s news?" she said. "He’s going to be anauthor."

"My dear, is this true?"

"Here he is. Just look at him."

Adrian had to read the cable and shake Michael warmly bythe hand. The men sat down and Adrian heaped theirplates.

"This is a great day, Michael," he beamed. "I wish we hadchampagne to offer you, but we’ll have to make do on theWitzenberg you brought the other day."

"I couldn’t have managed without your literary experience toput me right, sir."

"Nonsense. It might have taken you a little longer, that’s all."

The talk blurred in Rennie’s ears. She brought in the fruitpudding and cream, and obediently drank her glass ofwine. When she went to bed she wished she could cry. Butthere were no tears in her, only solid, unutterable despair.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

AS RENNIE suspected, her father had prepared a replyregarding the lectureship, setting out a proposed course often talks, and formally

applying for the permanent post the college had offered.

"Subject, of course, to the way you feel about the matter,"he told Rennie. "You're certain about giving up Mayenga?"

"Quite certain. I can't be content here anymore. If the farmisn't sold before we have to leave we'll arrange for thehouse to be kept clean and aired, so that it will make agood impression on prospective buyers. With luck, weshould get a few bites within the next month."

"We may have to live in quarters at the college, among theprofessors. Would that suit you?"

"Nicely."

What did it matter where she lived, so long as Kent were athousand miles away and she had work to do, plenty of it?

"So you agree wholeheartedly with my sending this letter?"

"Yes, darling," she said steadily. "I do."

The letter was posted, and once it was on its way Renniefelt the sense of peace which follows irrevocable decision.To save agents' fees they drafted an advertisement, citingthe farm's advantages and requesting interested farmers tocall for an inspection. It would be inserted in the local paperat the week-end.

Straightway, Rennie had stout cases made to take Adrian'sbooks, and carefully packed away everything breakableexcept a minimum of table china for daily use. An auctionwas held in the pasture of the cows and chickens andsmaller implements, and the resulting cheque was paid intothe bank. The dairy was scoured till it shone, and thenRennie locked it up. The only items of livestock about theplace now were the two horses and the young buck, who.after a few ventures up and down the farmlands in search ofcompanions of his own breed, had decided to make his

home in the willows at the side of the river. Almost everyday he came up to the fig thicket, and a few times he trottedright on to the lawn and tasted the grass. Foolishly, Renniewished they had kept one cow, so that she could feed himsome milk.

During his last week Michael was out for practically theentire length of every day. He talked facetiously about a girlat the tennis club who was shattered by his imminentdeparture. His tennis friends gave him a bachelor party,and subscribed to buy him a brand new portable typewriter.

On his last night he gave a modest dinner at one of thetown's restaurants. Rennie and Adrian went, and Jackiewas there, too. A pale, unusually silent Jackie, wearing asimple tailored suit with a white ruffle at the throat. Shesmiled at Rennie, but made no attempt to sit near her. Infact, she avoided conversation till the last moment, whenthe two were repairing complexions in the rest room beforeleaving.

Then Jackie from a cloud of face powder, lamented: "I wishwe were back at Christmas, Ren. I’d give the world for asecond chance to be real friends again."

"The world, Jackie?" Rennie laughed a little. "Suchextravagance! You don’t mean that at all. We’re differentpeople from the two schoolgirls at Castledene. Andanyway, with you miles away in town close friendship was

nearly impossible. We’ve had fun together a few times."

"That isn’t true. I’ve spoilt your fun. I’ve behaved rottenly—Ididn’t know how rottenly till my birthday party, when youstayed away rather than borrow a frock from me. Youwouldn’t have done that three years ago. I’ve lied, shownoff, stolen the limelight whenever you were around, andgenerally acted like the foulest sort of pig."

"I assure you I’ve never noticed it!"

"You wouldn’t. You’d cheerfully do your best for your worstenemy." Her voice shook and big, childish tears welled up."I wish I were like you—that I had the courage to say all thatI’m thinking. Ren, please don’t think too badly or me."

"As though I would, idiot. I can’t imagine what’s come overyou. Stop weeping. You’ll ruin your make-up."

"Who cares? I feel so despondent"

"Because Michael’s going?"

"No. Because I’m hurting people, and likely to go on hurtingthem, till the end of time. Most things come right for me, butsomehow other people get pushed around in the process."

"Why, Jackie!" Rennie rallied her gently. "This isn’t like youat all, and most of what you’re saying isn’t a bit true. Docheer up."

Jackie let the tears flow out, snuffled a great deal, dabbedher eyes, and hugged Rennie. Then she had to get out hercompact all over again. Before they went out to join theothers she was nearly as merry as usual.

Next morning, Michael was up at five. He had had the luckto charter a private plane which would land him atJohannesburg in good time to catch the noon service toEngland. All very expensive, but he seemed to have givenup counting the costs.

They were not to see him off, he said. A car would come forhim at six-thirty, and he’d bid them goodbye in the stoep,where they had spent so many enjoyable hours together.Any other sort of parting would be grim.

So that was how it happened. The pressure of hands,promises to write, repeated thanks . . . and the householdwas down to two again. Rennie had no appetite forbreakfast that morning. Michael’s departure was thebeginning of the exodus from Mayenga.

At about nine a prospective buyer for the farm drove up in aramshackle sedan; he was a bearded Afrikaner who,Rennie guessed, possessed negligible means but a mint ofshrewdness. He surveyed the land with Adrian, criticizedthe layout of the house and the fact that it faced south,accepted strong sweet coffee and pretzel sticks, and droveaway again, without even the polite reassurance that he

would "think it over."

"That one knows too much," observed Adrian, with hisusual good humor. "And we were too affable. Take it orleave it: that’s the attitude we have to adopt."

"We’re not made that way, I’m afraid. Still, he’s only thefirst."

There was so little to do outdoors that Rennie spent themorning turning out cupboards and destroying anaccumulation of receipts and circulars. Astonishing theamount of excess impediments one could collect in thebrief space of eighteen months. She carried sheaves of itto the kitchen stove, and more of it to the end of the backgarden, to be consumed by Adrian's bonfire.

They had had a cup of tea and she was in the lounge withthe writing-table drawer wide open and the wastebaskethandy, when Adrian made so loud an ejaculation that sheflew outside to where he sat with a book at the grass table.Questioningly, she followed his glance, and at once quelledan exclamation of her own.

Adela Caton, haggard-faced and leaning pronouncedly onthe arm of a middle-aged escort, was making her way upthe path. For a moment Rennie simply went on staring.Then she slid forward a chair and helped Adela to subsideinto it.

"Are you ill, Mrs. Caton? I'll get you a drink."

Adela waved feebly. "No drink, thanks. I’m not ill, onlyterribly ... terribly shocked."

The man gave an embarrassed little cough. "I’ll wait in thecar, Adela," he said, and walked quickly away.

"Won’t you even have some coffee?" Rennie urged. "Orperhaps a cup of tea?"

"No!" Now that her sympathetic companion was out ofhearing, Adela had gained sudden strength, "Rennie, I've afeeling you must have been in the plot. Please be truthful,and remember that I’m Jackie’s mother, and very badlyhurt. Did Jackie confide to you the dreadful thing shecontemplated doing?"

Rennie had a fleeting, absurd vision of Jac flinging herselfinto the Lamu.

" What... where is she?"

"On her way to England," announced Adela viciously, yetwith something of the manner of a great actress. "With thatyoung fool,

Michael Rogers."

Rennie’s mouth opened; her throat went harsh.

"Are you sure?"

"Take a look at this!"

The hotel notepaper shook in Rennie’s fingers, nor was shevery successful in smoothing it out, but after a moment shesteadied enough to decipher the hasty round scrawl.

" Adela, darling" (Jackie had written). "You’re going toabominate me for running out, but I can’t act otherwise. I’mflying to England with Michael Rogers this morning and I’marranging for you to be given this after breakfast. How luckyfor me that you always breakfast in your room, and are nottoo upset if Jackie doesn’t come in and kiss you goodmorning. Michael and I are in love and will be married assoon as possible after we reach London. We have knowneach other for years —Rennie will bear me out and explain— and when he followed me to South Africa I knew I couldnever escape him. I joined the tennis club, not for theexercise which you considered so necessary to my figure,but because Michael belonged to it and we could meetoften. He’s been a perfect angel all these weeks,pretending, except when we were alone, to be the coolestof acquaintances. He even aided and abetted in the matterof Kent, because he knew that so long as you believed I'dmarry him you’d keep me in Gravenburg and we could betogether. I’ve been a beast to you but I hope that in timeyou'll forgive me. I haven’t done anything wrong in lovingMichael. Yes, I did beg Popsie not to come to Gravenburg

for my twenty-first. I was so afraid you’d force somethingwith Kent, and Michael wasn't ready to waft me away."

"Please tell Rennie that Michael wanted awfully, right fromthe beginning, that she should share our secret, but I wastoo scared to let it go beyond the two of us. Besides, Irather thought she’d disapprove of my using Kent, andperhaps force me to be honest. I made Michael take thecasual pose because it was safest. What Kent will think ofme I daren’t imagine, but it was your fault, Adela, that Ipersuaded him to like me. You must admit that."

"I shall write a long letter to Father all about Michael, and ifhe withholds financial help we shall just have to do withoutit. For the first time in my life I’ve learned that money isn'teverything. Do go to Cape Town, darling. Popsie needsyou so much and I’m sure, after this, that you’ll need him,too. Your loving Jackie."

Rennie had scarcely raised her eyes from the astoundingepistle before Adela demanded, "Well, what do you makeof it?"

"They're in love," she said dazedly. "Jackie and Michael!"

"So she states, but it’s preposterous. How could shepossibly be in love with a penniless writer!"

"Penniless at the moment, but you may not have heard thathe's engaged on a book..."

"Oh, yes, I have! A novel about South Africa. Jackie tookcare to enlarge upon it only yesterday, but I neversuspected. . . . He'll never be able to give her the luxuriesshe's been used to. Mark my words, they’ll be divorced in ayear."

"They won’t," remarked Rennie. "Michael will know how tomanage her, and in any case, Jac has a backbone as stiffas yours when necessary."

The shaft of flattery went home. Adela's ego spread like apeacock's tail.

"I shall go to Cape Town at once," she said, rising to herfeet with hauteur. "My husband will be most distressed ifJackie's letter reaches him before I do."

And so would Adela, thought Rennie, hoping she was notbeing too feline in her summing-up of the woman'scharacter. Mrs. Caton's selflove would receive a deadlyblow if Jackie's elopement stripped half the importancefrom the long-delayed reconciliation between herself andher husband.

During her visit Adrian had remained, an interestedaudience, in his chair at the table. He had made no effort tojoin in the conversation, and only raised his brows whenAdela sailed away without even a nod of farewell. WhenRennie came back after speeding the older woman on her

way, he inspected the cover of his book, thoughtfully.

"A storm in a treacle-pot," he commented. "But that womanjust loved it. It's wonderful how some people wallow inseething and gnashing their teeth." He paused. "Rennie,why were you so dumbfounded about Jackie and Michael?They're obviously suited."

Rather wearily, she sank into another chair and leanedforward, elbows on the table, face held between her hands.A deep sigh escaped her.

"It appeared fantastic. How could they possibly hide theirfeelings so perfectly—deceive everyone for so long?"

"Temperaments differ, and they had a strong incentive.Come to that, you conceal things pretty well yourself."

She looked at him, and away again. "You’re referring towhat I knew about the connection between them? I couldn’tbetray Jackie’s confidence."

"Quite. There seems to have been a lot going on of whichI’ve been blandly unaware." Another pause. "That letter ofJackie's was confusing. Where does Kent come in?" heasked.

Her gaze became concentrated on the intricate pattern ofthe basket-work table.

"He cares for Jackie. At first, before she and Michael hadmet in Gravenburg, she was infatuated with Kent— she toldme so. You know how fascinating Jackie can be when shetries, and with Kent she put out all she knew, first becauseshe wanted attentions from a man of his sort, and later tohoodwink her mother. He's in for a nasty jolt."

Adrian shrugged. He couldn't pretend to understand thisbusiness. "Better now than later. Jackie’s no life partner fora forestry man. How is he to be told?"

"I've been wondering about that. Mrs. Caton’s a coward—she'll simply disappear and leave him to find out. This kindof thing can’t be written in a letter, and even if it could. . .Rennie hesitated. "Couldn’t . . . you perhaps get in touchwith him?"

Adrian was startled. "I should say not! Kent's private affairsaren’t my business. Besides, I think he’d prefer to hear thebrutal truth through the normal channels—club gossip, andso on, with no one else the wiser. That way it would beeasier to live down. After all, Kent's not a boy nor a fool.You may be sure that however fond he was of Jackie, hehad no illusions about her."

True enough. Rennie recalled her talk with Kent down by hisown wild rock-pool. Jackie, he'd averred, was bornsophisticated. He hadn't missed her faults, nor underratedthem. But love that encompasses both vice and virtue is

impregnable and lasting.

That afternoon a second enquirer came to look over thefarm, an immigrant newly from England. Glumly, he shookhis head. The acreage was too big; would Mr. Gaynorconsider carving up the land into two or three separate lots? Mr. Gaynor wouldn't . . . couldn't be bothered with it. Sothat was that.

George, the houseboy, having been informed that hisemployment must cease at the end of the month, packedhis few pieces of clothing and revered jujus into his brightred tin box, threw his native-store blanket about hisshoulders, and stalked off at once, the box on his head. Atlast he had an excuse for a spell of complete idleness. Thistime not even his father-in-law would be able to send himback to work.

The sheds were empty of all but the old car. The young fruittrees were beginning to drop leaves, the pea haulmsyellowed, the beet and onions sent out flowers. Pumpkinswere rotting on the plants or splitting wide and dispersingseed. Except for the horses in the cow pasture, the placehad a dejected, untenanted atmosphere. The riding schoolin Gravenburg had offered to buy Paddy and hiscompanion, and had generously agreed to their use of thehorses till the last day; a fact which consoled Rennie for,apart from house-keeping, there was so little—beyondvisits to the growing library—to occupy her. A daily gallop

on Paddy became indispensable.

Adrian, fitfully attempting research for his lectures andthinking a great deal about her, could not make up his mindwhether it would not be kinder to have done with Mayengaright away, before Kent showed up. An agent could handlethe sale, and the two of them might stay comfortably in anhotel till the tour began. Sea air and a totally differentenvironment were well-known tonics, and she would have achance of meeting people who knew nothing of stalk-borerand cotton weevils and cattle diseases. He would like tosee her dancing again, and eating one of those coloredmixtures from tall glasses.

Towards the next week-end he received an unexpectedinvitation from Mr. Morgan. Would Mr. Gaynor and Renniecare to lunch and dine with him on Saturday, and spend theafternoon on the river? Recalling the disastrous finish to herevening with Kent at the Yachting Club, Rennie would havepreferred to decline, but her father looked so pleased at theprospect of long hours in the bookseller’s company that shecouldn't help but acquiesce.

"Do you think he's heard that we’re leaving?" she asked.

"He may have. I hope he hasn't invited too many othersalong, though I do rather like the old judge. I never have hada good look at his books—except for the few he lent while Iwas laid up."

"It's not too late, darling."

"I suppose not. We might go there on Sunday, and giveourselves a week-end to remember."

A note of acceptance was despatched to Mr. Morgan, andRennie spent a couple of hours trying to create a modernfrock from one of her well-worn linens. Not that Mr. Morganwould notice what she wore, but her self-esteem was inneed of a fillip.

How glad she would be to earn money and buy some goodclothes. What a joy to possess matching accessories and agood supply of dainty underwear. One had to live in a hotclimate for a while to appreciate fully the comfort of cool silkagainst the skin and a well-fitting shoe.

They drove to town on Saturday, and turned from the mainroad into one of the well-established residential districts.There, among bougainvillea and Canary palms, they foundMr. Morgan’s Cape Dutch dwelling, and Mr. Morgan himselfabsorbedly comparing his euphorias with an illustration in agardening book. From his expression the similaritybetween the two could not have been very marked.

He greeted them cheerily, his eyes twinkling at Rennie as if

there were nothing he liked better than to entertain a prettyyoung woman. They lunched in a cool, dim room, and the

two men talked books, and still more books.

When, a little later, they rested in the lounge, it came toRennie that, now Mayenga was to fade into the past, thiskind of thing would constitute her life with her father. Hewould fraternize with elderly bachelors, discuss history andliterature with them.

She and Adrian would share rooms at the college, or asmall house in the vicinity, and the people they entertainedwould follow a dry, bookish pattern. They would treat herwith the old-fashioned courtesy which seemed to be theprerogative of the old and unmarried, and among themthere might be one with the temerity to propose that shemarry him.

Rennie stifle a frightened, hysterical laugh. The wholepicture was too dreadfully, heart-breakingly absurd, but justsufficiently within the limits of possibility to hang about onthe rim of her mind.

On the river her imagination cooled, but it wrenched her toglide along the lovely reaches of the Lamu for the last time.When they had bought Mayenga she and her father haddeclared an intention to acquire a boat "some time." It hadturned out that their part of the river was not navigable,which, they had agreed cheerfully, was just as well; itprevented them from regretting their lack of a craft

Presently, Mr. Morgan exclaimed, "We’re at the polo field.Look, Rennie, the game is on."

Her blood quickened. She shifted her seat in order to viewthe distant, thudding horses and their lithe, white-cladriders. Kent had said he might come in from camp for thepolo.

Striving to keep her voice normal, she said, "Who’s playingfor Gravenburg?"

He gave her the names, all unfamiliar. "I’ll stop the engineand we’ll watch. By Jove—did you see that, Adrian? Asplendid follow through!"

Kent, he kindly informed her without being asked, haddropped out of this week’s team, but they were hoping tocollar him for next Saturday’s game with stiff rivals. Theyneeded more players of his reckless type.

She sank into a lethargy, stirred to drink a cup of tea fromthe flask, and relaxed again, to listen to their comments onthe match. This, apparently, was to be her father’s day—aconclusion which was confirmed a few hours later.

For Mr. Morgan had prepared a surprise party for AdrianGaynor. After dinner, other guests came. There were thejudge and members of the Yachting Club with their wives,several of the library committee, and others. News that hewas to take a lectureship in Cape Town had

prompted the decision to give him a literary and musicalsend-off.

It was a grand evening. With windows wide to admit thehigh-pitched singing of crickets and the scent of nicotiana,a jolly audience applauded songs and piano solos. Agolden-voiced man recited from Tennyson and Byron, anda few members of the local dramatic society gave a scenefrom Henry V.

Adrian loved everything: the people and their kindness noless than the beauty they tried to interpret. His speech, aftercoffee and snacks, was a masterpiece of erudition andrestrained emotion.

Driving home, Rennie smiled at him affectionately. "Howdoes it feel to know that Gravenburg likes you so much?"

"I find it a little saddening. They're great people, Rennie,seeking strenuously for culture, and so grateful for a freshslant on things. There's no question of their trying to be whatthey’re not. They make me wish I'd concentrated and madea more worth-while attempt at farming."

"Good heavens. What's the connection?"

"A selfish one, I'm afraid. If Mayenga had been farmed toshow a profit—even a small one—we could have engagedsomeone like Fourie to run it while I was on tour. Then we

would always have had the place to come back to, andthere would be no question of losing so many excellentfriends."

After a pause, she answered, "We did start out with thatambition, but I think we're right to cut clean from Mayenga,however painful the break. Lecturing is much more in yourline than farming, and if the land pulls, we can spend ourholidays on a guest farm. I believe we're both townies atheart."

Adrian had doubts. Her continued pallor and the fixity of hersmile worried him. When she pegged to be left at home onSunday morning he wouldn't hear of it. She must comealong and play tennis with the other young people, in thejudge's garden, while the judge and he had their sessionindoors. Once there, he persisted, she would enjoy it.

On Monday they slipped back into the new leisurely routine,reading much of the time and taking a walk together beforemeals. In the evening, when she had gone off for a ride,Adrian sauntered round Rennie's flower garden andearmarked a few perennials which would transplant intopots and tins, and travel with them to the Cape.

He didn't hear the car. He never did bother much withnoises, especially unnatural ones. It was that faculty whichallowed him at all times to lose himself in a book socompletely.

However, he did notice the creak of the gate, and when heraised his head and saw Kent, his chief reaction was oneof relief that Rennie was not here.

"Well, old chap," he said. "So you’re back from thewilderness. Is the timber as fine as you expected?"

"’So-so," came the non-committal rejoinder. "I've seenenough of it for the present. How are you now? Well overthe snake bite?"

"Oh, yes, and I’m leading a beautifully lazy life." Kent's headinclined to indicate the expanse of garden and theouthouses. "You're looking stark all round. A swift decision,wasn't it?"

"You've heard that we're leaving Mayenga?"

"Only this morning. Maxwell sent me some mail andnewspapers, and I came across your advertisement. Hadany offers?"

"Not yet. No one seems to have any money. I shall appointan agent. They're expensive but necessary, and mostly theyhave lists of buyers."

Kent said, "Consider the farm sold. Name your price and I'llpay it."

Adrian dusted soil from his hands and, for some reason,took his glasses from their case and put them on.Seriously, he turned to stare into Kent's eyes.

"More land, Kent? What would you do with it?" "Plant thewhole with citrus and install a manager in the house. Oncethat's done it will be no trouble. You needn't regard it ascharity," he added with a touch of bitterness. "This farm willrepay whatever it costs me. I'm not just offering to buy youout of a mess."

"I didn’t suppose for a moment that you were," Adrianreplied mildly. If you really want the farm, have it. We’ve nowish to make a profit."

"We'll go into figures tomorrow." For a second his lip pulledtight between his teeth. Then: "Is Rennie about?"

Deliberately vague, Adrian waved a hand riverwards."She's out riding, making the most of her last week or so inthe district. Rennie never tires of your South Africansunsets. Folk tell me they’re even lovelier at the coast."

"More spectacular, perhaps. Has she any definite plans?"

"What sort of plans?"

"For the future," he said curtly. "How soon are she andRogers to be married?"

Adrian felt as if he had unwittingly walked to the outermostedge of a precipice. It would appear that Kent knew nothingabout Jackie’s elopement, and here was he, AdrianGaynor, about to play the part which Rennie had wanted toassign to him. The gentle breaker of ill news. Perhaps hecould avoid it, though; hedge round the matter and create adiversion. He was definitely not fashioned for the dramaticrole.

"I shouldn’t think it will ever come to that," he remarked

conversationally. "They'll correspond, of course, but thechances are against their meeting again for years to come.Rennie’s going on tour with me, and after that we may buy ahouse. The college is in a suburb of Cape Town, so wehope to live nearby. You know, Kent, I ought to haveacknowledged a year ago to being a weak hand at farming;then I would either have put more pep into it, or sold out at a

better time...

"Rennie and that fellow may have had a privateagreement," he interposed abruptly.

"Oh, no, she’d have let me into it."

"But you must have guessed she was in love with him."

"Rennie?" said Adrian wonderingly. "What an odd idea.Michael’s pleasant enough—I grew to like him very much —but he's hardly the man to suit Rennie."

"How can you judge?" bit out Kent in a fury of exasperation."What the hell do you know about your own daughter?"

"Enough," replied Adrian very quietly, "to be certain thatshe has never been in love with Michael Rogers."

"I'm sorry, Adrian, but it sometimes happens that anonlooker sees more than the affectionate parent. My guessis that as soon as this novel of his is finished he’ll askRennie to marry him—and she knows it."

"Then you’re a very poor guesser, Kent," he said decisively."I rather shirk being the bearer of bad tidings, but you’veasked for it. When Michael’s book is complete he willalready be a married man. Jacqueline Caton flew with himto London, several days ago, for the express purpose ofbecoming his wife. Are you satisfied?"

Kent stood strangely still. He had flushed darkly, and for along moment he looked at Adrian as though he were notthere.

At last, in a voice gone rough and urgent with some kind ofemotion, he said, "If Rennie wasn’t in love with the fellowwhy did she return the picture? Surely my gift was as goodas his! Why did she cling to that young jackanapes whenyou had snake-bite? And why, in heaven's name.... "

Adrian broke in with a gust of sudden, lighthearted laughter."I haven't the least notion what you're talking about. But Igather that you're in a fine temper with Rennie becauseshe’s stuck to her independence. She'll be back beforelong. I suggest you come in and cool off, and later on youand she can have a quiet hour in the lounge."

"What I have to say," returned Kent crisply, "had better besaid in the open air, where there are no walls toreverberate. How far up-river does she ride?"

"By now she'll be this side of the boundary, on her wayhome. But look here, Kent____"

"I'll borrow your horse," he threw back at Adrian. "Don’tworry. I'll bring her back alive!"

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

MEANWHILE Rennie lingered among the willows, herthoughts far removed from the approaching sunset. Todayshe had ridden farther than usual, and viewed from theshelter of some trees a native village surrounded by mealieand yam fields, where women worked and piccaninniestumbled. She had been overcome by a sick dread ofleaving the bushveld, and stern upbraiding had helped not abit. Useless to assure herself that the coast was moredelightful. The African bush had captured her heart.

She tried to see herself behind a mahogany counteragainst a background of books; subscribers smiling andthanking her for the care with which she searched forwhatever they required, some of them so well known to herthat she enquired about their families. That was how it hadbeen in England, and libraries are some of the fewinstitutions that follow a pattern in almost any land.Interesting, rewarding work, if one had not discovered thatplantation life was inexpressibly more satisfying.

It was less harrowing to think along the lines of work than todwell on a future so barren and loveless that her heartquailed. Yet it had to be confronted and conquered. A smallvoice within reminded her that Jackie was gone and Kentfree, but reason answered that Kent would not only revert tohis erstwhile disregard of women, but his contempt for thesex would be intensified a thousand times. Jackie, whomhe must have trusted as far as it was in him to trust anywoman, had betrayed him. A man of Kent's character would

not lightly forgive, and he’d never forget.

In any case, the dregs of Kent's love were not good enoughfor Rennie. Marriage on the rebound was a humiliatingbusiness, and no lasting happiness could come from it.She didn’t want Kent on those terms.

She thought back to the maize fire, his generosity, thespeed and ease with which he had produced well-orderedlands from an agricultural chaos. The halcyon interval whenMayenga and the Gaynors had come first with him, and anymiracle had seemed possible; the canoe ride, when he hadshown her the new forest and explained the timbers. Therewas too much to look back upon.

Rennie ached with an accumulation of pain. It was alwaysat its worst at this time of the evening, when she canteredthe river bank and neared the cottonwood log where sheand Kent had first met.

Presently, of his own accord, the gelding slowed and trodinto the shallows to drink. Rennie stayed in the saddle,facing the orderly trees on the opposite side.

"Buck up, Paddy," she said impatiently.

He whinnied and his head came up, ears alert, and in aminute Rennie heard the sound, also: the faint, regular thudof hoofs. Her eyes strained down to the bend in the river,and her pulses began a scared throbbing. Had something

happened to her father, or was this he, come to warn her ofsome catastrophe at the house?

She jerked the rein, but not sharply enough, for Paddy kepthis forelegs in the mud, and his nose turned interestedlytowards the nearing hoofbeats. Rennie used her heels andthe gelding backed straight across the track.

The rider appeared, his speed sending out a screen of pinkdust behind him. His mount was a familiar chestnut color,moderate in size and just a shade ungainly. Adrian’s horse.

Rennie’s heart gave a terrified leap and she gripped hardon the leather in her hand. Yes, the horse was her father’s,but the virile figure on his back was unmistakably Kent’s.

He reined in at three yards and swung down. His jaw wastaut, his eyes blazing. He held up his arms.

"Get down from that horse," he commanded.

She dismounted, feeling faint at his touch, and involuntarilyclutched at his cuff for a second as he let her go. He gave aslap at the gelding’s flanks, and both horses, inseparablepasture companions, ambled a few yards and stopped tocrop the grass.

Compellingly, Kent took a firm grip of her arm and madeher walk with him to the thick shadow of a bottlebrush. Hethrew off his jacket, spread it out and gave her a gentle

push which she was powerless to resist. She sat down andfound the tweed warm beneath her hands.

Kent ignored the jacket. He dropped to the grass in front ofher, rested back on both hands, and looked at her. Therecame a moment's hush, when even the sweet gurgle of theLamu seemed to fade and the birds to cease their sunsetsong. A moment of rare magic which brought a sadpricking to Rennie’s eyelids and a hot lump to her throat.How she loved him!

"Tell me why you were in such a hurry and riding my father'shorse," she pleaded.

Kent was in a hurry no longer. He seemed, in fact, reluctantto end the silence, for he continued to stare at her, his eyesstill fiery and a working muscle faintly visible in his cheek.

Finally he said almost curtly, "Would you have gone awaywithout seeing me again?"

"I .. . don't think so, Kent."

"You're not certain?"

"I don't know. Goodbyes are painful, and it will be hardenough to leave Mayenga, without adding a ghastly farewellvisit to Elands Ridge."

"Rennie," his usually crisp tones had thickened slightly.

"Answer this with absolute truth. Were you ever in love withMichael Rogers?"

Startled, she said, "In love with Michael! Never in my life.Why should you think of that?"

"You were under the same roof with him for a couple ofmonths, you were sympathetic to his work, helped himwhenever you could, and always spoke in his defence."Edgily, he added, "You two met each morning at breakfastand had your goodnight drinks together. How I hated toknow that!"

"But you must have realized that he was simply a pleasantyoung paying guest. He was much more with my father thanwith me."

"He gave you the pearl necklet."

"He didn't." She had spoken hastily, without thought. Moreguardedly, she ended, "It wasn’t my necklace. I happenedto have it in my bag the night we went to the Yachting Club.That was all."

"How in blazes did it get into your bag?" he demanded.

"You must have put it there."

"I did, but it belonged to someone else."

"Whom?"

She shook her head. Impossible to talk to Kent aboutJackie.

But he was leaning forward, his brown face keen anddetermined, his chin angular. "Who was the someone else—Jacqueline Caton?"

"Then why, for Pete’s sake, didn’t you open up and tell meat the time?"

"I was in a peculiar position. I just couldn’t."

"Were you shielding someone?"

"No . . . no." Her hands came up over her eyes in acuriously childlike gesture of unhappy bewilderment.

She felt him grasp her wrists and hold them, and presentlyhe drew them down and kept her fingers between his own.

"All right," he said. "That can wait. But don’t ask me tobelieve you accepted Michael’s kiss on her behalf!"

"No," she admitted with a pale smile. "The kiss was allmine.

An expression of Michael’s gratitude."

"It seemed to me that you weren’t too anxious to terminateit."

"Perhaps not. I can’t remember."

"Rennie ... I could have strangled you both."

Her eyes widened, the red lips trembled and her handsfought in sudden anguish to be free of him. But his holdtightened.

"You can't get away," he said. "Now or ever. You’re going tosink your English independence and marry me."

He was unprepared for the wounded expression, theturning aside of her head. Her nostrils dilated, and a tear

glistened on her cheek.

His arm was about her, his other hand in her tawny curls,crushing her close to his shoulder.

"You amazing child. You cry over the wrong things," hemurmured, not too evenly. "There’s nothing to be sad about.Look at me, Rennie." In a minute or two she was able toobey, though her glance rose no higher than the chiselledmouth. She shrank from what she might read in thepenetrating eyes.

"What are you afraid of?" he asked quickly.

"Don't hold me, Kent. Please."

The words were so low and pained that he let her go. Theyseemed to gain their feet simultaneously, but as Rennietwisted towards Paddy, he caught hard at her elbow, andheld her there, unable to move. His voice was harsh withstrain.

"I've just asked you to marry me—or didn’t you notice?"

"I didn’t intend to behave badly," she said, white-faced. "Ican't marry you, Kent."

"You’re not in love with me?"

"It isn't that____"

"Well, that’s enlightening. We seem to be gettingsomewhere at last. If it isn’t that, what is it? "

Rennie swallowed. "The way you feel now, any womanwould suit your purpose. You’ve chosen me because I’maccessible and tractable."

"Tractable! I’d hardly call you that. This sounds like asection from Michael’s novel. Go on, my sweet."

His mockery gave Rennie courage.

"You’re hurt and angry. You want to prove to yourself and to

anyone else who’s curious that Jackie was just anotherwoman who enlivened your leisure for a while. You're tryingto convince yourself that you never loved her. I can’timagine anything more heart-breaking than to marry a manwho is embittered over a disastrous love affair."

"Jackie?" he echoed blankly. "What the devil are youtalking about?" Then he gave a brief gust of laughter. "Youlovely lunatic. Kiss me,

before I beat you."

He pulled her into his arms and found her mouth, kissed hertill she panted and clung.

When she could speak again she whispered, "Not . . .Jackie?"

"Not . . . Jackie," he breathed back, borrowing herstammer. "I wish Michael joy of her."

"But you did like her, Kent"

"A little. Her technique was a change from your persistentrefusal to be friendly. When she first came I hoped she'dbring you out a bit— persuade you into the social round.That was before I understood just how low your father’sfunds were. Afterwards, I used to rage inside myself. Attimes, it did occur to me that I might make you jealous ofJackie—I deliberately invited her and Mrs. Caton every

time I entertained—but after the fire all that was finished."He paused, and his tone dropped. "You’re so sweet whenyou're helpless, Rennie. I must have loved you from thestart, when you got angry with me for minding yourbusiness, but I was never really sure till the day you came toElands Ridge all torn about and smoke-stained. Youwrenched the heart right out of me."

"If you’d only said-"

"It looks like that now, but no man cares to lay himself baretoo soon. Besides, exhausted as you were, you’d broughtyour pride along, and I still resented it. But in the followingweek or two, when you gave me a free hand at Mayenga, itseemed as if the hatchet had had a decent and finalinterment. You can’t imagine how I felt when you returnedthe picture. It was like a blow between the eyes. Since thenyou’ve either been chilly as winter or avoided me as if Iwere ant-poison."

His skin was copper in the dying sunlight. Behind him, inrelief against the darkling sky, the trees billowed theirquivering gilt coins. A wild duck rose from the reeds, itsneck grotesquely stretched as it took wing and sailedupriver. Paddy pawed the turf and shuddered his coat.

"Why did you send back the picture?" Kent wanted to know.

"The picture?" Rennie stirred against him. She was

recalling Jackie's extravagant statement: "We’re crazyabout each other." No need to repeat it to Kent. He’d befurious. "I’m afraid it was jealousy again," she said with anapologetic smile. "You hadn't been over that day. You wrotethat you had friends up from the coast. That evening yougave a large-scale dinner party."

"Quite right. So I did."

"Michael found out that you’d invited Jackie, After he toldme I couldn’t bear to possess the picture."

"But, darling, you’d have loathed that crowd. I'd invited themat short notice because my two guests were the hard-drinking, gambling type. Jackie could take it—in fact, Iseem to remember that she voted it my best party to date—but I wouldn't have had you among that mob for anything."

"Then ... may I have the picture, Kent?"

"You may not," he said firmly, "It stays at Elands Ridge."

"Oh."

He bent and gave her a hard kiss." And that's where you'regoing now—to Elands Ridge, via Mayenga. I want you tomyself, in my own house."

Dusk swept in like a dark tide. The horses jogged side byside, wholly content, but neither Kent nor Rennie spoke

much, though they exchanged frequent glances, and onceKent winked at her and reached out to squeeze her arm.There was still so much to be explained, yet for the momentRennie was happy, ecstatically happy, in the knowledgethat Kent loved her. Nothing else had importance besidethat.

It was dark when they came to the farmhouse gate, butAdrian was in the lighted stoep, his pipe smoking fiercelyas he gazed over the humming garden. Rennie could seethe grey cloud shrouding the glow of the lamp. Swiftly, Kentunsaddled the horses and sent them off to me pasture.

"Wait in the car," he said. "I'll just slip up for a word withyour father."

"I'll go with you."

"You'd take too long. Do as you're told, there's a pet."

He was gone only three minutes, and came back, grinning,to slide into his seat and press the starter.

"What did he say?" she queried.

"Nothing. I did all the talking." He trod gently and the carmoved off.

"We can't walk out on him like this. There's no one to gethis dinner!"

"In that case he'll have to raid the cooler himself. He won'tmind. Are you warm enough?"

"Plenty, but I'm grubby to go visiting."

"You're not going visiting," he said. "You're going home."

Shyness gathered like a dot in her throat. Unseeing, shewatched the speeding trees, first the cedars, and thenKent's forest, bounded by the giant eucalyptus.

Elands Ridge loomed white and imperious, but completelyunlighted. Kent helped her from the car and jingled his keys."I gave Tanu permission to stay in the Reserve with hisparents while I was away, and the other servants will havegone to the kraal for the night. So we shall be in the sameboat as Adrian."

He unlocked the door and flooded the hall with light, tuckedher hand into his arm and led her down the corridor to thewide, white

kitchen.

"Hungry?"

"I could eat something. May I open the frig?"

"It’s yours, with all that therein is. What shall we have . . .sweet corn, cheese, crispbread, tomatoes, pressed

sweet corn, cheese, crispbread, tomatoes, pressedtongue? The cucumber looks weary, but maybe we can dowithout it. The butter’s like iron."

He loaded the table while she washed her hands, andtwenty minutes later they were eating corn, highly seasonedand yellow with butter, and rye biscuits spread with softcheese and sprinkled with herbs, and the whole kitchenwas impregnated with the delicious aroma of coffee.

Rennie looked at him and loved him; loved the way helodged back on two legs of the white enamelled chair, thequizzical dents at the corners of his mouth; his black hairand the straight dark brows. This was their first intimatemeal together, predecessor of many, many more. Theywould share dawns and sunsets, troubles and untoldhappiness. Almost, she wished he were poor and aspiring,so that she might prove what a good wife she could be.She forgot how Kent had writhed over her struggles atMayenga.

"Why so tense?" he enquired.

She smiled. "The suddenness, I suppose. Less than twohours ago I was built up to leave Mayenga—and you—forgood. Now, I’m wondering how I can possibly leave you atall, even for the three months."

He reverted to the four legs of the chair with a crash.

"My poor, foolish child! You have the queerest notions. Doyou really think I’d let you go?"

"But my father’s tour starts soon..."

"So it does, and I'd be the last to deter him from it, but bythen, my heart's darling, you and I will be married, and I shallhave first claim on you." He laughed. "Don’t look soterrified. I bet this next fortnight will be the longest we’ll everlive through. If the law would allow it, I’d marry youtomorrow."

Her head bent to hide a flood of pink.

With teasing tenderness he went on, "I know just the placefor a honeymoon; a house that belongs to an aunt of minewho’s at present in England. It has white gables and atangled garden, and is perched above a lagoon on theNatal coast, where we can bathe and picnic. An oldAfrikaans couple take care of the place, and will keephouse for us.

How long is it till you’re twenty-one?"

"Five weeks."

"Where will your father be then?"

"Probably at Port Elizabeth."

"Adrian’s sentimental; he'd like to be on hand when youcome of age. We’ll break the honeymoon—go to PortElizabeth for a celebration, and back to Natal. Would youlike that?"

She was speechless, of course, and he had to kiss awaythe ache from her eyelids and the tremulousness from hersmile.

And after that he insisted on their inspecting every room inthe house and planning alterations. He knew there was toomuch blue about the place, but when he’d furnished,uniform curtains and covers had seemed to him the safest,and it wasn’t a bad blue, was it?

"The color of your eyes," she said. "We’ll keep it in some ofthe rooms."

He showed her the cupboards and the balconies, and asmall, tucked-away room where he kept his polo sticks andtennis racquets and a hoard of old sports gear. On the wallhung the original of the photograph of him which she hadseen in the polo news in the Gravenburg newspaper. Shefingered the frame.

"I’ve never seen you play, Kent."

"No, you haven’t. When I invited you to a match lastChristmas you didn’t turn up, and it wasn’t long after when Ibegan to get sensitive about you. Women set such store by

clothes and presenting themselves each Saturday in adifferent get-up. The other players’ wives are like that, andthough I knew that in youth and good looks you’d knockthem cold, I also knew you couldn’t afford to compete withthem in the way of dress, and might be unhappy about it."

"So you asked Jackie instead."

"She didn’t need asking. Jackie was friendly with the otherplayers and their relatives, and the polo was a standingengagement. From now on, it's a regular date for you, too. Ihope you're not going to be the sort of wife to get nervesevery time I play."

Rennie was beginning to realize that there could be noescaping the anxieties of being Kent's wife. She was fondof horses and rode passably well herself; she was awarethat he handled them as if he’d been born in the saddle,and that his superb horsemanship had averted frightfulspills on the field. But she would worry just the same;visualize a smashed collar-bone or a fractured limb everytime his mount reared. All women in love are that way.

She avoided a direct reply by asking, "You'll let me keepPaddy,

won’t you? He’s a bit of a mongrel compared with yourArab ponies, but he won’t care a scrap if they’re snooty withhim. Paddy’s not in the least self-conscious. He’s a dear."

"He’s like your father’s chestnut—has the gait of a hack buta stout capacity for endurance. We’ll keep them both.Adrian might like to ride when he comes this way."

She faced him, smiling a little ruefully. "By that timeMayenga will have a new owner. We’ll all three ride alongyour river bank and pull his farming methods to pieces."

"You hadn’t better." He tugged her hair. "Mayenga will beours."

"Kent!" She shone up at him. "You can’t mean that you’retaking over?"

"I'm certainly not allowing a stranger on your land. It’s acompact farm, and citrus-growing will provide a changefrom forestry. I know a fellow who will manage it andeventually show a profit. I'll get him here for an interview in aday or two, and you can judge whether he's worthy to live inyour house. There's always the chance that he’ll have it torndown because it fronts south."

"Brute! Our view is as good as yours."

"Agreed, but your mosquitoes are better nourished. Comeout of this cubby-hole, darling. I have to breathe on onecylinder."

At the end of the corridor a tall window admitted soundsand perfumes from the garden and the forest beyond. A

wedge of moon peeped between branches, a moon thatwas young and full of promise. Kent snapped off the light,and they stood with the breeze playing about them, his armacross her shoulders, his heart thudding heavily into herside.

In a little while she was conscious of the distant drumbeatwhich she had heard so often at Mayenga. Tonight therhythm was strange and exciting; insistent and primitive;and Rennie thought she could see the glare of a far-awayfire.

Kent said, "A native betrothal or wedding feast." And wassilent, listening again.

Half-turning, she looked up at his lean face, heard hisquick-drawn breath as he turned, too. The long thin linebelow his jaw was livid.

She felt the contraction of his arms, and raised her lips topress small kisses along the scar.

"I’ve longed to do that," she said, softly.

For once it was Kent who had no answer — no verbalanswer. He could only sweep her close and kiss her with apassion as savage as it

was tender.

THE END