DEAR ADVERSARY

Kathryn Blair
The Copperbelt of Northern Rhodesia, where the primitive still exists alongside the ultramodern,
and fabulous natural beauty alongside industrialization, forms the background to the story of
Morny Blake and Grant Randall.
Morny was a young schoolteacher, Grant head of an important mining syndicate. He was used to
managing people and things, and assumed that he could manage Morny too.
But she instinctively resisted his too-hasty domination, for a woman likes to be mastered only
when she can feel that she is also lovedand Morny was all too certain that Grant had given his
love elsewhere.

CHAPTER ONE
THE COPPERBELT! It had a round, sultry sound. One imagined an aerial view of a vast strip of jungle
splodged here and there with vine-smothered mining gear, a baked-up town where technicians
lived with their families or with other technicians, and a dim wooden office on a dusty street in
which Uncle Luke prepared, printed and published his newspaper. At least, that was how Morny
Blake had pictured this part of Northern Rhodesia. Uncle Luke had occasionally sent her a copy
of the Singana News, and she had never missed an item in the six small sheets; from them she had
gained her conception of the place.
Sitting beside him in the old tourer, Morny began with some excitement to realize that the
weekly newspaper had presented only half the scene, the half which interested the community
itself. It hadnt mentioned that the town was situated on the side of a hill whose base was washed
by a curved blue lake, that upon the hillsides grew Rhodesian teak, cotton, tobacco and tea; nor
was it necessary to print descriptions of the spacious residences which looked down over the
lake and across to the little jade hills and mauve peaks of the Chungwa Mountains. Its readers
knew such facts already.
Big, isnt it? said Uncle Luke with some satisfaction. The finest bit of country between
Victoria Falls and the Congo border, and the best of it is, the Singana Mine cant be seen from
anywhere in the town. Its round the corner of the hill, in the valley.
But why didnt you tell me in your letters it was so lovely! she exclaimed. I wouldnt have
had the least doubt about coming, then.
He nodded his fluffy grey head at the windscreen, his expression wise. I wouldnt have you
taken in by the beauty of the placethat wouldnt have been fair to you. I wrote to you that its not
uncommon to find lion spoor in ones garden on a morning, that youll often be bored, that theres
hardly anyone else of your age. Those things are still true, my dear.
But youre here, Uncle Luke. We hadnt much outside entertainment on the Yorkshire moors,
but we had wonderful times!
Luke Penrose gave her an affectionate sideways glance. Morny wasnt pretty in the accepted
sense, but in his opinion she had something far more valuable than prettiness. She had a deep,
intelligent brow, smoky, grey-blue eyes and fine, mahogany-colored hair with yellow streaks in it.
And in spite of (or because of) being more or less stranded in the world at an early age, she was
sweet and courageous. She didnt know it, but she made his life complete, gave point and

substance to living. There was hardly a thing he wouldnt do for his niece.
Morny at that moment was staring out upon the approaching township of Singana, and thinking
back upon the years she had spent with Uncle Luke in Yorkshire. Her mother had been his younger
sister, and when both her parents had died in a car crash there had been no one but Uncle Luke to
take care of the young Morny. So, with a housekeeper, they had lived in a stone cottage within
sight of the moor, and Uncle Luke had edited the local biweekly newspaper, while Morny
attended high school and, like all young things, set about growing up.
The break-up of the home had happened devastatingly but not suddenly. Confronted by the
necessity to choose a career, Morny had shown a preference for schoolteaching, but a reluctance
to enter a training college and leave her uncle alone. For a whole summer they had cheerfully
argued, and at the end of it the situation was partly resolved by the marriage and removal from the
neighbourhood of the housekeeper. Uncle Luke could not face settling down with someone new
and unused to his ways, nor would he countenance Mornys suggestion that she take a post near by
and keep house for him. She had her own life to live. With all the determination of which he was
capable he had sent Morny to do her training in London, sold the house and moved himself to a
private hotel.
Recalling her last meeting with Uncle Luke in London, Morny could still feel the twinge of
shock at his news, the inward panic at the very mention of being severed from him. He had sat
smiling gently in the dour hostel lounge.
It isnt for long, Morny, so you musnt be upset. Id take you with me now, but its best that you
complete your trainingto student-teaching standard, at any rate. By then Ill know whether this
new venture is going to be successful, and either you can come out to Rhodesia or Ill come home.
The colonies are crying out for schoolteachers, you know, and Rhodesia prefers people from
Britain.
She hadnt been at all sure that she wanted to teach in Rhodesia, had even entertained a
treacherous hope that the newspaper he had been engaged to initiate and produce in Singana might
turn out a flop. After a while, though, she had had to accept the fact that Uncle Luke was in
Northern Rhodesia for good, for his salary did not come from the threepences paid for the paper,
nor from the advertisers subscriptions, but from the powerful Singana Mine Syndicate. The
whole thing was subsidized by the company for the benefit of its employees, and the managing
director had so taken to the quiet, humorous, elderly Luke Penrose that he had built for him a
house and received Lukes suggestion that a school be started with a degree of enthusiasm.
So here was Morny, twenty-two years old and with four years training behind her, hoping,
apprehensively, that Rhodesian children were not too precocious, and that Mrs. Bartlett, who had
been a teacher in England before her marriage and would be in charge of the new school, might

not be difficult to work with. In any case, there would be Uncle Luke, the mountains and that
incredibly graceful lake.
They were entering Singana now, a wide main street lined with white cement shops and
divided down its middle by a row of young, scarlet-flowering kaffir blooms.
There, said Uncle Luke, indicating with a flourish the sign Singana News over a modern
entrance, is the hub of the town, the floodlight, the inspiration. And none of your cheap, upcountry journalism, either. I write most of it myself.
Its a beautiful buildingalmost worthy of you. Maybe Ill be able to help.
No doubt about that. The school wont be ready till next month, and itll only keep you busy in
the mornings, anyway. The school hours are seven-thirty till one in these parts; no child could
learn in the heat of the afternoon. The shops close from one till three-thirty and everyone goes to
sleep. Then we start up all over again, and thats the grandest half of the day; everyone uses the
evenings to the utmost. Youll love it when you become adapted to it.
Morny laughed a little. Trust Uncle Luke to dig in as if he were made for this type of existence;
he never felt out of place anywhere. But she could not imagine herself quickly becoming
accustomed to these huge, exotic trees, the low white buildings, the heat, the space and, above all,
the hordes and hordes of Africans.
All the way from the Cape she had been intrigued and fascinated by the brown skins and the
black, the woolly heads, the elaborate feminine headdresses, the multicolored blankets, the
bulging collars of beads upon which the dark faces appeared to rest as if they had no connection
with the swaying hips and sturdy legs below. From the Limpopo northwards she had noticed the
dresses becoming prettier and the figures more shapely; the villages were as primitive as one
expected them to be and, once across the Zambesi, most signs of civilization among Africans
were absent.
These people who milled along the pavements were predominantly black and male. Many of
them wore the white shorts and tunic shirt which formed the usual garb of house-servants, but the
rest were half-naked or clad only in a threadbare blanket. The women, in flowered cotton frocks,
invariably had a baby slung in a shawl at the back. Here and there a dandy lounged in exaggerated
European dress; they were probably boss-boys at the mine, explained Luke.
Yes, this was surely Africa, breathed Morny to herself; the Africa one read about but scarcely
believed in. She was now in the Copperbelt, that fabulous region which spreads across Northern
Rhodesia and extends for hundreds of miles into the Belgian Congo. Yet the town was more
modern than the newest garden city in England.

Uncle Lukes house lay back from the main road on the other side of the town. It was white and
square, with a green tiled roof and a green-floored veranda from which one surveyed two smooth
lawns within brilliant borders of cannas, giant gladioli and cactus dahlias.
Just then Morny had no time to notice more. She entered a small tiled hall which led, through an
archway, into a deliciously cool lounge. The furnishingstweed chairs and curtains, a plain teak
table and positively not a single piece of ornamentationwas severe and practical, but Morny
could imagine Uncle Luke buying the minimum of requirements, and keeping at the back of his
mind the thought that Morny must select all the small luxuries which transform furnished rooms
into a home. That would be typical of Uncle Luke.
She turned suddenly and hugged him. Youre a pet. Theres not another Uncle Luke in the
whole universe!
That may be true, he conceded mildly, but theres probably a younger man somewhere
wholl take you away from me some day.
Not for years and years, and even then Ill insist that you live with us. Is this really your very
own house?
Every brick, and for ever. He let out a sigh and sank into one of the chairs with his legs
stretched in front of him. Do you know that weve travelled well over two thousand miles by
road since you docked last Thursday? We ll have some lunch and rest. You can unpack this
evening when its cooler.
Hadnt you better introduce me to the house-boy?
Boys, he corrected her heavily. There are three of them, and two garden-boys. Dont ask me
why it takes five to look after one white man, but I can assure you that it does. I named them
myself. The cook-boy is Joe, the one who polishes the floors is Samson, and Thomas is a sort of
butler-valet. One energetic boy could do the lot, but they prefer to descend upon one in a bunch
and share the wages. We have a budding native village at the back of the garden.
Morny was aching to ask more, much more, but he looked so sleepy that she said, Go straight
to your room, Uncle Luke. Ill find the kitchen and tell the boy to bring your lunch to you. Dont
bother about me. I live here now!
And youre bossing me about again, he said with a twinkle. Its quite a reliefjust what
Ive been waiting for.

Just what she, too, had been waiting for, reflected Morny, as she took a breath and plunged
through the corridor to the back of the house. She had missed him so dreadfully these last three
years that it seemed impossible she could ever want to leave him again. But Uncle Luke never let
her forget that marriage was womans most splendid career. Even while urging her to train for
teaching because she wanted it so badly, he had constantly reminded her that falling in love was
the best training for wifehood. And he a bachelor!
The kitchen was moderately sized and white, the house-boy, Thomas, was large and black, very
black. He gave Morny a hypnotic stare, thereby dispersing some of her confidence. But she told
him, firmly and unmistakably, to carry lunch to the masters bedroom, and to prepare a second
tray for herself. Thomass, Yes, missus, had a dubious note.
In the corridor she met her uncle at his room door. He waved at the room opposite.
Thats yours, Morny. Samsons jut put your trunk in there. Ill have to be up again at three to
pop down to the office, but you can snooze for as long as you like. The rooms are thick-walled
and cool.
Morny had never felt less like snoozing. She wandered round her bare little bedroom and
thought of the happy days ahead, when she would beautify each room at the smallest possible cost.
Half the pleasure of such a task was in determining how much one could do on limited cash.
Presently, having tried some of the salad on the tray, she opened her trunk and shook out a
patterned linen dress she had bought at the Cape. It had a low, square neckline and deep, cool
armholes; what balm to get into it and shed the navy sport suit in which she had travelled.
Freshened, she stole out to the corridor, along to the lounge. White plastic blinds had been
drawn, but she lifted one and peeped out at the garden bathed in sunshine, at the long hedge
encrusted with purple flowers. Uncle Luke had planned the garden with gay disregard of color
schemes, but, somehow, vivid warring colors were representative of the climate. The greenness
of grass and foliage helped them to live together.
The peremptory ring of the telephone caused her to drop the blind and swing round in
astonishment. She hadnt thought of there being telephones in Singana; though to be sure, if there
were, Uncle Lukes would be one of the busiest.
Swiftly, so that the noise should not disturb him, she crossed into the hall and raised the
receiver. At once a young man asked politely, Is that the residence of Mr. Penrose?
Morny replied, Yes, and waited.

The line clanged. Then came a crisp, autocratic voice, Is that you, Luke?
Morny said, This is his house, but Mr. Penrose is resting.
Put me through to his room, will you?
Im afraid I cant do that. Hes asleep.
What day does he think this isSunday? Put me through!
There are some voices which become smooth and almost caressing over the telephone, and
others which are apt to make the hands clench and the temperature rise. This one was of the latter
category; it ignited sparks within Morny.
Im sorry, she said, not sounding it, but Mr. Penrose cant be disturbed. He hasnt long gone
to bed, and hes tired.
So hes tired! Im not surprisednot in the least. Who is it speaking?
I think I should be the one to ask that!
An instants pause. Thats fair enough. This is Grant Randall. I suppose youre the niece he
went to meet at Cape Townthe reason he travelled nearly five thousand miles by car to show
the sights, when he could have hopped a plane from Broken Hill and got there and back within
three days. Is Luke all right?
His slight softening conveyed nothing to Morny. She could see him at the other end of the line,
thickset, florid, with a horrible square jaw and one of those mouths that dip at the corners.
Hes sleeping, she returned stubbornly, and Im not waking him for anyone till three oclock.
Ill tell him you called.
You neednt trouble, issued calmly and coolly from the receiver. Ill see him this afternoon
at his office.
She heard the sharp ping as he replaced his telephone, took a furious breath and was about to
drop her own into place when the first man who had spoken said in hushed accents, Are you
there? I feel you ought to be told that these are the private offices of Mr. Grant Randall, the
managing director of the Singana Mine Syndicate. Then he, too, rang off.

Morny felt herself go hot, then clammily cold. Grant Randall, the big noise of the district, the
man who had befriended Uncle Luke without question, given him his job and built him this house.
What had she done? But hed sounded such a beast; that aloof, commanding inflexion, his demand
that Uncle Luke be roused to take the call. That other man, the younger one, was probably his
secretary; he had listened in and no doubt enjoyed a private chuckle at her expense. What was she
to do now?
Anxious and bewildered, she turned and found herself faring Uncle Luke in his check dressing
gown with his hair more unruly than ever.
I heard the telephone, he said. Who was it?
Despairingly she explained. I hadnt the smallest notion who he was, and he was so lordly that
I was almost rude to him. Ill have to ring back and apologize.
He uncle raised his brows quizzically. But youd rather not. Youd only do it for my sake.
Of course. He actually deserved every word I said.
Then youd better leave it there. Youll find Grants not half bad when you know him.
She was aghast. Do we meet socially? Have I got to be nice to him?
He shrugged, still smiling. Please yourself, my dear. I never have any difficulty with him, but
Im not a high-spirited young woman.
Hasnt he a wife?
Not one.
She gave a sigh of exasperation. He seemed to hi amp me because you came to meet mehe
carried on about the distance by car. Is he annoyed that you werent here for last weeks issue?
Not a bitthat wouldnt bother him. I left practically everything set up, and my assistant
managed the rest. As a matter of fact, I did the journey to Cape Town against Grants advice. He
said so much car driving right off was too much for a man nearing sixty. That was weeks ago,
when you first let me know youd booked your passage. So as the time drew near I kept quiet
about it, and only my assistant was aware of where Id gone. But Grant is in touch with the paper
fairly often, and he was bound to find out.

Morny looked anxiously into his kindly, lined Did it tire you a great deal?
He patted her shoulder. It was marvellous. Id been looking forward to it for three years, and
when I set my heart upon something I can be as tenacious as Grant himself. Dont give it another
thought, Morny. Ill have a word with him.
He said hed call in at your office. She paused, faintly puzzled. Didnt you say that everyone
rests from one till three-thirty? Does Mr. Randall usually telephone you at this time?
Hardly ever.
Then why should he bark something about your thinking this was Sunday?
Thoughtfully, Uncle Luke stroked his chin. After a minute or two a look of ludicrous ruefulness
came into his eyes.
Id completely forgotten. Today is the first Tuesday in the monththe day of committee and
board meetings at the mine. They take place in the morning. I always attend personally and report
them verbatim in the News. Quite a number of the employees are shareholders, and Grant thinks
theyre entitled to be kept informed of the companys progress.
Oh, dear. So that was his grouse. Morny inserted her arm into the crook of his. Im sure you
must have been pretty nearly exhausted to let so important an item slip your mind. It isnt like you
at all. Cant we do something about it?
He let her lead him to a chair. I dare say Grant got his secretary to take notes. Dont be
distressed, Morny, he smiled at her. One benefit of growing old is that you dont easily get
rattled or flustered. You take the long view. If it would make you happier I won t spend much
time at the office. Ill bring all my stuff home and you can help me with it.
Darling, I wish you would. Ill get you some tea now. Put your feet up for ten minutes and
relax.
He obeyed her and she left him.
The boys were gone from the kitchen. As she opened drawers and cupboards, Morny tried to
remember what she had told Mr. Randall. But she could recall much more clearly what he had
said. She was angry with herself, more angry that she would care to admit to Uncle Luke. Her
very first day, and she had come up against the most exalted creature in Singana. About him she
bothered not a scrap, but she would go to any lengths to avoid unpleasantness for Uncle Luke. He

ought to have let her apologize to the man, much though it went against her inclination.
The more she dissected those few minutes on the telephone, the less she liked Mr. Randall. This
was subtropical Africa, not the tearing heart of London. It might be true that the Copperbelt was
making immense strides towards industrialization, but, after all, there was nothing much here
except trees and copper, and the next town was at least fifty miles away. Mr. Randall was too
conscious of his own importance.

CHAPTER TWO
UNCLE LUKE had his tea and drove off. Morny did some unpacking and wondered how long it
would be before the box of oddments she had salvaged from the sale of the Yorkshire cottage
would arrive in Singana from Cape Town. The staring walls and barren shelves were a challenge;
even the bookcase was reproachfully empty, except for a litter of magazines in the lowest
compartment.
The house had been completed only a year ago. Before that, Uncle Luke had lived at the tiny
hotel on the main street. It was just like him to have the garden planted and mature while the
rooms looked as though he had moved in but yesterday.
The dining suite was a modest affair in teak, the bedrooms were furnished in a local streaky
wood which would improve with the liberal use of polish. There was nothing costly or stylish
the money would not run to thatbut the plainer the nucleus the wider the scope for
embellishment. She would start with the lounge, of course, and leave her own room till last. How
she wished she could plunge straight into schoolteaching and begin earning at once. It would be
nice to pay for some of the improvements herself.
During the trip up from the Cape she and Uncle Luke had talked and talked. He had confessed
that his salary was a higher figure than it could ever have reached in England, but the cost of
living was correspondingly above the English standard, too. Also, there were more outside
demands upon ones pocket. One entertainednot that he had done much of that, so far, but it
would be expected of him now that he would have a woman in the houseand women,
particularly, were more or less compelled to dress well and change often. One subscribed to this
and that, paid, fed and clothed ones servants, kept a well-filled wine cabinet, and had to run a
car because there was no other means of transport.
Listening to him, Morny had felt as if she were on the brink of the most thrilling phase of her
life. Even the information that Mrs. Bartlett leaned towards the more old-fashioned teaching
methods had not damped her anticipation. Morny was not contemptuous of the outmoded; Uncle
Luke himself was a decade or two behind the times, and she loved him the more for it. Besides, in
a climate which exacted a toll of the energies, slickness and speed were unwise.
She learned that a private kindergarten already existed to take care of children between the ages
of five and seven. The new school was designed to cater for the older onesabout fifty in number
who were at present compelled to attend convents and boarding schools far away to the south.
As the town expanded, so would the school and staff. Growth was inevitable.

There was an element of satisfaction in knowing oneself in at the beginning of such a project.
Within a few hours of arriving at the small, well-laid-out town in the wilds, Morny saw her own
person sliding into a niche and becoming part of the hot Central African Copperbelt, where
sloping acres of cotton and tobacco, sisal and citrus, grew above the prodigal lodes of rich ore.
During the following days Uncle Luke was able to rest most of the time. Mr. Randall had
agreed to allow the monthly meetings to be condensed into a single column of notes, and
fortunately a number of social events had taken place last Saturday, which helped to fill up the
rest of the paper. Conscientiously, Uncle Luke wrote an editorial comment upon the perennial
problem of disease among Africans, after which he sat back to enjoy a lazy week-end in the
delightful atmosphere which invariably accompanies the advent of a bright young woman into a
hitherto bachelor establishment.
On Sunday afternoon Morny met two of his cronies. Mr. Reid was a retired naval man who now
had charge of all sports club activities, and Mr. Malony was a tea planter. Both were talkative,
and Mr. Malony was frankly and enviously amazed that Luke Penrose could possess such a
lissom, smiling lass for a niece.
He left Ireland thirty years ago, Uncle Luke told Morny with a wink. Hes almost lost the
brogue, but never in this world will he lose the blarney.
And dont you sit there so smug, Mr. Malony retorted. Youre preening now, but before
youre used to having the girl around shell be snapped up by one of these engineers or a forestry
man!
I hope so, replied Uncle Luke comfortably. So long as she keeps clear of tea planters...
After more in similar vein, Morny left them to their whiskies and walked to the end of the back
garden, past the row of cement rooms occupied by the boys and their families, and out through a
mesh gate into the lane. This path was chiefly for the convenience of the natives. It ran along the
backs of the houses all the way to town, and at any time you might come upon a crowd of boys and
women, seated gossiping and chewing sugar cane, while the babies tumbled among the bushes.
Morny took one of the footpaths which led into the bundu. It twined downwards like a fat red
dusty snake, with dense squat trees on each side, some of them dripping yellow, some blue, and
some with deep green hearts hidden under the fresh mid-green of new growth. Below, she could
see a section of the lake, and opposite rose the Chungwa Mountains with the fiery glory of the sun
behind them.
Uncle Luke was right about this being the best part of the day. The dawns were fresh and
opalescently pink; they made one want to lie in the dew and stare into the swiftly changing

heavens. But too soon the dew was gone and the sun brassy in an African-blue sky. As the sun
went down, however, a breeze sprang up, the promise of a cool evening, a tolerable night. Trees
and lake were gold-dusted, the mountains misted with lilac, shading within minutes to deepest
purple. And, oddly, one felt revitalized and strong, and very wide awake.
Morny went on down the path, came eventually to the arc of stony beach and the waters edge.
It was clean, clear water, drinkable at most seasons, but here the beach was oily in patches from
the motor yachts which had been out this morning.
At first it was so quiet that she thought she and the birds had, the lakeside to themselves. Then a
movement away to the right caught her eye, and she turned to watch the tall figure in white slacks
and shirt near a beached, upturned boat, as he kicked aside the granite stones, apparently
searching for some object. Soon he came nearer, raised his head and saw her.
Good evening, he said incuriously, and moved with the toe of an immaculate buckskin shoe a
large grey rock.
Hello, she answered ingenuously. Lost something?
A gold pencil. Must have dropped it this morning when we were hauling up the boat. It just fits
my fist, and I hate breaking in a new one.
It is irritating, she agreed innocently, breaking in a new gold pencil.
His glance at her then was sharp and amused. Sarcastically amused, thought Morny; he had that
kind of face. Longish and aquiline, with high cheekbones and a dent in his chin. His hair was a
deep, dark brown, so dark, in fact, that her own was nearly golden by contrast, and his eyes were
nut-brown with green flecks in them. He might be thirty-five, or even older.
Are you with someone? he asked.
Down here, you mean? No, Im not.
Well, you should be, he stated tersely. Youre new to the place, arent you?
I arrived last Tuesday.
Last Tuesday? A moment passed. So youre Miss Blake, the new schoolmarm; most of us
have heard about you. You dont look like a schoolteacher to me. Had any experience?

Not a jot. But I dare say I can manage the eight-year olds! Morny had a prickling sensation
which was vaguely familiar. She twisted towards the path. I hope youll find your pencil.
Goodbye.
Ill go with you, he said at her back. The bush isnt safe till youve learned how to deal with
a snake or a scorpion.
It occurred to Morny that a snake might be less of a menace than this big, striding stranger. But
she intended to be polite at all costs. No more hurried mistakes if she could help it!
I suppose youre at the mine? she enquired conventionally as they climbed.
You suppose correctly, he replied.
An engineer?
Right again, he said.
Am I being too inquisitive?
Lord, no. I havent been questioned by a girl of your age for years. Go right ahead. Im
enjoying this.
The steepness of the ascent or his note of satire caused her to breathe rather fast. For several
yards she was wordless. Then she said stiffly, Am I taking you out of your way?
Yes, about two miles, he admitted carelessly. I live at the other end of the lake. From one
corner of my garden you can see the mine.
That must be grim. Im awfully glad we cant see it. It seems a pity that such country should be
scarred by mining gear.
He helped her over a gnarled root, slid his hands back into his pockets and, still walking,
looked coolly down at her. I dont see the pity of it. If the copper mines didnt exist thered be no
roads or towns, so no one could come to see the country, anyway. Copper has great value. It
brings prosperity to Rhodesia and employs thousands of Africans. Nothing which does ultimate
good should be regarded as an excrescence. Thats the sort of opinion you should keep to yourself
in this district, at least.
In the second that the clipped syllables ended Morny knew who he was. Yet part of her brain

still refused to take it in. Managing directors were not youngish and handsome; they sat behind
desks and smoked cigars, ordered people about and made them weak at the knees. Well, no doubt
he did sit behind a desk on weekdays, and quite certainly he was accustomed to being obeyed. He
might even smoke cigars. But he neednt flatter himself that Morny Blake was cowed by his air of
command. She wouldnt retract a word she had said to him, or about him.
She might have sent out a thought line, for he murmured, I should have introduced myself as
soon as we met. Im Grant Randall. With a touch of mockery he added, The chap you got cross
with on the telephone the other day, remember?
I remember that you expected me to waken my uncle because hed forgotten your meetings.
She stood at last at the top of the path, glad the panting scramble was over. Thanks for coming
with me.
Negligently, ignoring her tone, he strolled at her side. Luke can mix me a drink. Hes told me a
lot about you, but I believe only half of it. Hes prejudicedno woman could be that sweet and
lovely.
A woman is all things to all men, they say.
Meaning that to your uncle you really are everything desirable, but that to another man you
might show claws? Ive always suspected that sweetness and claws go together. What did you do
in England?
She gave him a few brief details, was relieved when they came to the mesh gate and were
inside the garden. Here, she was on her own territory. As they moved round to the front of the
house she saw, rather thankfully, that the car which had brought Mr. Reid and Mr. Malony had
gone. Her uncle sat on the veranda, musing upon his garden, but when he saw them he stood up.
Good evening, Grant, he said cordially. Ive never seen you arrive by the back way before.
I discovered your niece alone by the lake. You shouldnt let her do that, Luke, particularly
when its nearly dusk.
I have told her to be careful, but young folk never are. Whisky and soda?
Grant nodded, saw Morny seated in one of the folding chairs, hitched his trousers and chose a
chair on the other side of her uncle. She drank grenadilla and listened to their talk. A man named
Eliot was doing well in the tennis tournament, the majors boat had capsized on the lake this
morning but the incident had better be omitted from the News because the old boy was touchy. The

council had sanctioned new building plans to the value of more than twenty thousand pounds.
Thats half as much again as last quarters figure, said Grant. Ive asked them to pull in.
Too-swift growth inevitably creates ugliness, and we dont fancy that. Do we, Miss Blake?
He was harking back to her disparagement of mining but Morny decided not to rise to it. She
gave him a reserved little smile but no verbal answer.
By the way, Luke, he said, expansion is in the air in another direction as well. I had a letter
yesterday from the management of the Limbusi Mine. It seems the Limbusi township is agitating
for a newspaper, and the board are suggesting that the name of the News be changed and its size
increased to incorporate their district. The idea has its points.
Luke pondered. Its our aim to become independent of the mine some time, isnt it? A bigger
public and more advertisers would hasten the day. Who would do the reporting at Limbusi?
That could be easily arranged. Theres sure to be someone on the spot capable of handling it.
Well get together on it one day next week. He finished his drink. Thanks for that. Ive got some
people coming for dinner. Mind if I take your car, Luke? Ill send it straight back with my boy.
Take it, and welcome. No hurry.
Grants farewell was a casual bow which included them both. He edged behind the wheel and
backed the tourer into the fast-falling dusk.
Morny gathered the glasses, snapped on the hall and veranda lights.
Like him better? queried her uncle with a hint of mischief.
Not much, she said. Is he Rhodesian?
Yes. His family came from Salisbury in England to settle in Salisbury, Rhodesiawent in for
cattle ranching on a big scale. Grant still owns the place and goes down there occasionally. He
was educated in England, collected a string of technical degrees and came back to help extend the
Copperbelt. The Singana Syndicate owns four mines.
And hes the big boss of them. No wonder hes conceited, she said.
Uncle Luke laughed. Self-assurance isnt conceit. Hes simply one of the best mining brains in
the countryand he knows it.

Morny took the tray through to the kitchen and returned to put away the bottles and siphon.
Uncle Luke had gone into the lounge, and the veranda was a tunnel of soft light. She went to the
steps and gazed up at the first stars. The air flowed about her, tender and cooling, the cicadas
were shrill and the bitterish scent from an unseen mimosa tree filled her nostrils. Then she
became conscious that a thin slice of moon was rising, a withdrawn and cynical moon against a
wine-warm sky.

CHAPTER THREE
IN THE middle of Mornys second week the box of household goods arrived from Cape Town.
Samson snapped the iron bands and levered up the lid, and Morny set about the methodical
unpacking.
The ormolu candelabrum, which had been one of her mothers wedding presents, she placed
upon the centre of the dining table; the set of six Staffordshire mugs would look well on a corner
bracket in the same room, and the bareness of the cabinet would be completely relieved by the big
silver server and the silver tray which had been her grandmothers. For the lounge there were a
couple of miniatures and some gaily designed plates, a selection of solidly bound classics and
three big glazed pottery ashtrays with amusing verses on them; these last had been kept at Uncle
Lukes request for no better reason than that they were the first rhymes he had taught Morny, and
were therefore to be regarded with affection.
Right at the bottom of the chest lay the huge copper warming pan which had hung beside the
fireplace in the Yorkshire cottage ever since Uncle Luke s mother had gone there as a bride.
Morny lifted it out by its polished mahogany handle and regarded it with rueful fondness. A
copper warming pan in the Copperbelt! To hang it where, it might be seen by visitors would be to
invite facetious comment, and Rhodesian kitchens were not like old English ones. They were
white and tiled, used exclusively for cooking and mostly by natives. She would have to find a
corner for the thing in the dining room.
Almost at once, under Mornys influence, the lounge assumed character. The plain, unpolished
bookcase was enamelled cream to match the walls. The bright plates and two slim vases were
placed on the top of it and the books arranged on the shelves. On a low table a blue bowl, a shade
deeper than that of the tweed, was kept filled with flowers, and between the miniatures was
suspended a newly framed sampler which Morny had worked during reading-aloud sessions at the
hostel. From a secondhand dealer she bought a decrepit writing table, and with Samsons help she
repaired it and sandpapered the stains and scratches from its surface. Painted cream, bearing a
fruit-wood inkstand and a reading lamp and fitted into the ample recess beside the bookshelves, it
gave the room an air of pleasant dignity. The lounge had no doors, only the archway into the small
hall, so that part of the room was visible to the left immediately upon entering the house.
The door on the right of the hall led into the dining room, behind which lay the kitchen and
bathroom. The bedrooms backed the lounge and the hall, with a corridor between. The house was
simply and economically planned to give the maximum comfort and coolness.

You certainly have a way with a house. Its becoming more like home every day, commented
Uncle Luke one evening. Would you like to give a party? You could have ten or a dozen people,
because here the guests always overflow on to the veranda.
Id rather wait a while, but I do think I ought to contact Mrs. Bartlett. Where shes concerned I
want to start off by doing the correct thing.
He smiled. I dont blame you. Women are far less forgiving than men. But she knows youve
arrived, and as shes to be your senior, the next step is with her. She s the type to do the correct
thing herself, so any day now youll receive a polite invitation to tea.
Uncle Luke turned out to be right. Two days later a boy brought a brief and beautifully penned
note. Miss Blake had no doubt by now settled into her uncles household; would she care to come
to tea at Mereside to-morrow? The signature was Vera Bartlett.
From Mereside you cant see the lake at all, said Uncle Luke with a comical twitch of bushy
brows. We also have The Larches without a larch in sightor even in the neighbourhood
Rosedene, Daisybank and so on. I nearly had Dandelion written on our front gate.
I suppose some people have used the names of houses they had in England. Im glad the
invitation has cone, but Im shaking a bit, Uncle Luke.
Over Mrs. Bartlett? Youve nothing to fear there. She must have an assistant, and shes lucky
to get one like youfresh from college and bursting for experience. Are you really keen to teach
children?
Fairly. If Id stayed in England Id have specialized in art. I think more attention should be
given to the arts in schools.
Dont express that opinion to Mrs. Bartlett, he warned her lightly. Shes all for packing
facts, and still more facts into young brains. And shell have her own methods of doing it, too.
I dont blame hershes to be the headmistress. Is she the only woman in Singana whos been
a teacher?
I think so. Her husband came here to work as an accountant in the mine offices, but they hadnt
been here long before he had a heart attack and died. Theyd bought the house, so she stayed on.
When I mentioned the building of a school, Grant Randall at once thought of Mrs. Bartlett, and she
was asked to take care of the teaching end and become the principal.

Morny sighed. Its always Grant Randall, isnt it? Is he friendly with Mrs. Bartlett?
Shes hardly his sort! You see, Grant dislikes the way new towns usually develop in
prosperous areasyoung blood everywhere and the accent on money-making and sport. He
contends that mature councillors and a mature school principalnot to mention an elderly and
seasoned newspaper editor!tend to restrain the unruly element and imbue a respect for tradition.
Singana is only seven years old. He nodded at her reassuringly. Until you know her really well,
let Mrs. Bartlett have her own way. And whatever you do, dont worry.
But of course Uncle Luke did not view the matter from Mornys angle. To him it mattered little
whether she worked or not; only her happiness counted, and if she didnt happen to find it in
schoolteaching, there were always the house and garden. Morny felt differently; she wanted to get
busy, to become a useful member of the town and earn a salary. She had lived for long enough on
Uncle Luke.
The following afternoon she dressed carefully in willow-green with white collar and cuffs. She
wore white shoes, and at the last minute decided to put on a thin white felt cap. Uncle Luke sent
back the car from his office, driven by an African who had charge of the newspaper delivery van,
and Morny set out, feeling philosophical and resigned. At an interview one could only be oneself,
and the day was too gloriously bright and lovely for brooding.
Before the car reached the shops it turned from the main road into a tree-lined avenue from
which other roads branched. All the houses were new, white and bungalow-type, surrounded by
shrubs and young trees. Here and there an ancient palm reaching into the sky, or a Zambesi
redwood, had been left standing, lone specimens, perhaps, of thickets which had been cleared to
make way for civilization.
Mereside was a small, L-shaped house in a scrupulously neat garden. Not a blade of grass
sprouted between the flags of the path, not a weed sullied the flower beds. The garden was a
warning. Morny almost tiptoed across the black, polished stone of the porch. The door stood
open, held back by a ferocious-looking, cast-iron cat, and in the tiny hall a table held a glass vase
from whose thin neck issued four spikes of gladiolus in bud. Like one plunging into unknown
deeps, Morny pressed the bell.
A house-boy appeared, to conduct her into a lounge which had heavy furniture and light walls,
and, after a decent interval, Mrs. Bartlett came in, extending a hand in prim greeting.
Vera Bartlett was tall for a woman, and thin. Her sandy coloring rather detracted from good
features and accentuated her general air of austerity. Her navy silk dress was buttoned to the
throat and covered her arms to the wrists; it was the first dark frock Morny had seen in Singana.
Though she could not have been more than thirty-eight, the womans manner was set and middle-

aged.
Im pleased to know you, Miss Blake, she said distantly but with a smile. We are always
happy to see new people here. I hope you will find it easy to settle in Singana.
I could settle anywhere with my uncle, Morny answered cheerfully. Im only too glad theres
going to be a school, so that I shall be able to work here.
Ah, the school. Mrs. Bartlett tinkled a little brass bell. We ll have tea before discussing that
all-important matter. Are you quite comfortable there?
Morny wasnt. The chair was upholstered but armless, and the back sloped disconcertingly, so
that she was afraid to give it her weight for fear of appearing slack. But one didnt bother with
such trifles at a meeting with ones first headmistress. So she said, Yes, thank you, and kept
quiet while the tea tray was arranged to her hostesss satisfaction.
Mrs. Bartlett did most of the talking. When Morny named her training college the woman made
a sign of approval, but she was not interested in the teaching methods they advocated. She had
already drawn up her plans and ordered the school equipment. Unfortunately, everything took such
a long time that it now looked as if the opening would have to be delayed till after the next
vacation. It was only fair to give the parents ample notice.
Were taking boys to the age of ten and girls up to Form 3. The boys will come into your junior
group. Do you think youll manage them?
I coached three boys privately last winter and got along all right, replied Morny.
Giving private tuition is very different from school-teaching. Boys are less amenable with
girls in the class, but we shall see. Well go into the subject of discipline later.
Altogether, Mrs. Bartlett impressed Morny as rather soulless but in no way objectionable.
Perhaps because she had married late and had no children, she seemed never to have come fully
alive. One could not imagine her developing a deep liking for anyone, or allowing emotion in any
form to displace common sense.
Morny had just decided that it would now be polite to take her leave, when steps sounded on
the path, and a minute later a man tapped on the lounge door and poked his head round the edge of
it.
Come in, said Mrs. Bartlett. Miss Blake, this is my brother, Ian Templeton. Miss Blake is

Mr. Penroses niece, Ian. Shes going to help me with the school.
He stood in the doorway smiling with a hesitant charm. He was about ten years younger than
Mrs. Bartlett, and fairer. His features had the same regularity as hers, but his eyes were a definite
blue and his mouth was sensitive. To Morny there was a vague unhappiness behind his smile, but
she doubted whether it was apparent to his sister. Yet Vera Bartlett patently had a weakness,
however slight, for this brother of hers. His breeches were stained, his riding boots badly
scratched and dusty, and his thinnish hands were decidedly grubby, but she, who revered order
and impeccability, only shook her head indulgently.
Have you been marking trees again? What horrid work that must be. Why couldnt you have
gone in for medicine or the law! Shall I order fresh tea?
No, thanks. Ive had some. He sat down in a chair near Mornys, looking at her half shyly.
So youre in Singana to stay? I wish I were. In my job I get pushed around from one wooded spot
to another.
Forestry? she asked.
Yes. I like it, but I hate moving.
Youre here for two or three months now, anyway, put in his sister. I think you should join
the club and enter into the towns activities. Theres plenty going on all the while if youll only
take the trouble to find out. Do you belong to the club, Miss Blake?
My uncle insisted on it, though I havent yet taken advantage of my membership. After a pause
which was oddly long and awkward, Morny stood up. Thanks so much for a pleasant afternoon,
Mrs. Bartlett.
This was received with a gracious inclination of the head.
Ian Templeton opened the door. Ill go with you to the car.
As they went down the path Morny noticed that he was not so very much taller than herself. She
liked his agreeableness, his instant but slightly reserved friendliness; in that he was singularly
unlike his sister. When they reached the car he did not at once help her into it. He met her eyes
fleetingly, then said, Gould we meet again soon? I dare say every man you come across will
make the same pleawere short of young women in these parts and its every chap for himself
but I really would like us to have an occasional game of tennis.

Frankly she answered, Id like it, too, so long as Mrs. Bartlett approves. Shes going to be my
boss, and I wouldnt wish to offend her.
You wont. In some ways shes cold-blooded, but shes genuinely anxious for me to enjoy life
shes been on about my joining the club for some time. She likes you.
Me? This was startling. How do you know?
She wouldnt have introduced us, otherwise. Vera wails about modesty and good manners
being on the wane, and you probably came as a refreshing surprise. Woe betide you, though, if she
ever catches you in shorts or slacks!
Morny laughed. His simplicity was disarming; he reminded her of the students with whom she
and her friends had picnicked and danced in England. He was older than they, less nonchalant, but
he had that honesty which is somehow swallowed in sophistication as men acquire years and
experience of women.
May I see you on Saturday, then? he said. Ill pick you up at four and well spend the rest of
the day together.
She agreed, said goodbye to him, and slipped into the back of the car. Ordeals were never quite
so black as one anticipated, she thought, as the tourer moved out and along the road. Mrs. Bartlett
promised to be domineering, but a woman of her kind was bound to make a success of the school.
Ian was nice; she couldnt have explained why, but she felt a little sorry for him; one always
pitied the easily hurt who were condemned to live with the insensitive. Why she had suspected he
was vulnerable and not too happy was another mystery to Morny. Possibly she had mistaken an
inherent seriousness in his nature for something else. You couldnt judge a man on so short an
acquaintance.
Her watch said five-twenty, and she had promised Uncle Luke to have the car back outside his
office at half past five. It would be best to drive straight there now, and go home with him. She
leaned forward and spoke painstakingly to the driver.

CHAPTER FOUR
A FEW minutes later the car pulled up outside the News office, and Morny got out.
She had been here once before, had been shown the press which turned out not only the News,
but practically the whole of the printing requirements of the town. She had met Mr. Mayhew and
learned some of the intricacies of composing, had talked with Clement, who was Uncle Lukes
assistant and utterly devoted and loyal.
Today the friendly Clement leaned behind the counter with his mouth close to the telephone.
Moms enquiring glance drew from him a smile and a jerked thumb, which she interpreted as an
intimation that Uncle Luke was in his office. Quietly, she passed through the main office to the
door of the editors sanctum; she tattooed with her fingernails at the opaque glass and, without
waiting for an invitation, let herself into the room.
There she stopped precipitately, for Uncle Luke was not alone. Grant Randall sat on one corner
of the desk, and the two heads were bent over a skeleton newspaper layout; the cloudy grey head
and the sleek dark one. As she entered, both heads turned. Grant straightened, and Uncle Luke took
off his glasses.
Hello, my dear. Were you kept late over at Mereside? How did it go off?
Not too badly. Good afternoon, Mr. Randall.
Well met, Miss Blake, he said smoothly. I hear youve been having tea with the admirable
Mrs. Bartlett. Did you take to each other?
I wouldnt say that, but I think we shall work together when the time comes.
I expect it seemed as if you were back at school yourself, he remarked. Now you know what
I meant when I said you didnt look like a schoolteacher. Mrs. Bartlett is an excellent example of
the species.
I see, she heard herself answering coolly. Youd prefer the Singana teaching staff to be as
attractive as a bunch of skinned rabbits.
Tut-tut. One should not speak so of ones future principal. His expression mocked. I hope
youve more patience with children than you have with adults. Did Mrs. Bartlett tell you that the

school opening has had to be postponed?

Yes, its disappointing. Is it the fault of the council?
No, he responded calmly. The fault is entirely mine. I dont care for halfhearted beginnings.
If we wait till after the long vacation everything will be ready to start off with a swing. He
turned to Uncle Luke. Put a notice in the paper, will you? Get a date from Mrs. Bartlett for a
meeting with the parents, and advertise it. It wouldnt be a bad idea to suggest that she make a
slightly social event of it.
You know Mrs. Bartlett. She isnt like to take suggestions from me.
Grant smiled and snapped his fingers. Use diplomacy, Luke. Telephone her for the date, then
send her a proof of the advertisement saying that you hope it will be suitable. Once she sees her
name in large print shell agree to the rest like a lamb. The woman has vanity, like everyone
else.
It might work. Uncle Luke got to his feet, examined his print-stained hands. Disgusting,
arent they? Will you wait while I wash, Morny?
He went out. Morny folded his glasses into their case, pushed shut a couple of desk drawers
and tidied a pile of papers. She looked up to find Grant regarding her speculatively.
Somehow, I feel you wont hit it off too well with our Vera, he said. Shed co-operate better
with someone staid and docile.
I cant help not being staid, but I shall be docile enough, she returned. Theres no other
school in the district, so Id hardly put myself out to quarrel with her. Ive no wish to, anyway.
She has it in her power to make you unhappy, though.
I dont see why she should, but if she does, Ill get over it.
You wouldnt rather stand down?
Now her blue-grey eyes were lifted to gaze squarely into his green-flecked ones. Stand down?
What do you meanfind a post elsewhere?
That isnt necessary. For the next few weeks before the school opens youll be running Lukes
house. Why not continue that way? He doesnt want you to teach; hes said so several times.

Did he also tell you that hes looked after me since I was five, that he paid for my education
and sent cheques to help with my training?
No, but what if he did do all that? By showing him that you care for him as if he were your
father youve repaid him a thousand times; Luke wouldnt want repayment anyway. He doesnt
need your few pounds in the kitty before hell believe in your gratitude. His tones altered,
became impersonal. Think it over.
Ive already decided, she said shortly.
The silence lasted till Uncle Luke came back. Unaware of any tingling in the atmosphere he
gave Morny his humorous smile. Has Grant told you that were invited to his place for dinner on
Sunday?
Or Saturday, inserted Grant casually.
No, not Saturday, said Morny quickly.
Her uncle quizzed at her. Why not Saturdaymade a date?
She dropped the spectacle case into his pocket and reached down his hat from a wall hook.
Ive promised to spend the evening with Mrs. Bartletts brother, she told him clearly.
Glad to hear it, my dear. You dont have to be defiant about it.
Defiance, Luke, Grant elucidated kindly, is sometimes a cloak for embarrassment. Your
niece, quite rightly, can see no reason why she should go into the details of her appointment with
young Templeton, particularly in front of me. She hasnt yet learned that we in Singana have every
sympathy with the young and romantic, and do all in our power to help them.
Morny flashed him a look but could think of no reply. Uncle Luke laughed, folded up the sheet
over which he and Grant had been poring and stuffed it into his pocket.
Ill have this planned for you by the weekend, and early next week Ill slip over to Limbusi for
a talk about policy.
Oh, no, said Grant firmly. You stay right here and let Limbusi come to you. You re the chief,
and you tell them, you dont ask them. Theyre darned lucky to be able to shove their news into
such an excellent paper. And don t budge over the title. Singana News just as it is now, with the
words incorporating Limbusi underneath. Theyll take it!

They came from the offices into the shadowed street. The last bright rays of the sun gilded the
roofs, slanted along the crossings. The shops were closed, and only a few cars remained parked at
the kerb.
Will you come in for a drink on your way home? Uncle Luke asked Grant.
Thanks, but not tonight. Ive some stuff to clear up at the office. See you both on Sunday. So
long.
He crossed the road diagonally, behind the tourer, and leapt the steps into the massive modern
entrance to the offices of the Singana Mine Syndicate. Morny supposed the long cream car over
there was his; it was an extravagant-looking vehicle. Abstractedly, she took her place on the
shabby leather seat beside her uncle.
Success spoils a man, doesnt it? she said.
If you mean Grant, I disagree. Uncle Luke started up the engine, and pulled out. He works as
hard as anyone in town.
But he cant resist using his power. He has to poke his nose into the paper, into the school
and probably into everything else.
Youre vexed because hes put off the school opening, but actually it was a sound move. You
and I arent fussy if a detail happens to be out of place, Morny, but when youre running a town
youve got to think big and have things organizedand hes just the man to do both. The council
are not too sure of themselves yet; theyre glad to have a lead from Grant. As to the paper, he
ended mildly, arent you forgetting that hes virtually my employer?
Hed never get anyone else as good as you are, she said warmly. He knew that well enough
when he brought you out from England. You shouldnt give in to him, Uncle Luke. Someone ought
to stand up to him, prove to him that knowing all about copper mining doesnt entitle him to plan
other peoples lives. Hes far too dictatorial.
Her uncle was amused. "Youre doing a spot of standing up to him yourself, but youll find that
it wont make the least impression. Why should it? Besides being new to the country, in Grants
opinion youre one of the sex that should be managed, nor managing!
Morny took a long breath. So that was the mans attitude towards women. She might have
guessed it. He had all the attributes of the imperious male, and an annoying brand of mockery
besides. She could imagine him conceding that women were necessary but not to be taken too

seriously; one jested with them, protected them and, if relations with one of them became too
involved, got married. But he, Grant Randall, was far too sane and circumspect to fall into the
feminine trap. The domestic life was for others, not for him.
How she would love to see that sanity of his dislodged! What a bracing experience to watch the
gradual disintegration of his steel-plate armour till he was just a man impassioned over a woman.
Queerly, she knew that it was possible, though what kind of woman could rouse such a man was
completely obscure.
As the weekend neared Morny began to look forward to becoming more closely acquainted
with Ian Templeton. There was no temptation to pretend or get angry with a man like Ian, because
he was as ordinary as she was, and not particularly endowed with self-esteem.
When he came to the house at exactly four that Saturday afternoon, Morny met him in the
veranda. She was wearing a deep pink frock which accentuated the light streaks in her hair, and
she noticed with relief that he was in a lounge suit.
You mentioned tennis, she said, but Id rather not have to come back and change.
Good. We thought alike. Shall I pay my respects to your uncle?
You cant. Hes gone bowling with Mr. Malony. We might have tea here.
Do you mind? Then we can go for a drive and slip down to the club later. They put on a good
dinner on Saturdays, and theres dancing, too, though the band is only a local, spare-time affair. I
have dined there before, but itll be good to dance.
Half an hour later his shining two-seater bore them down the road, away from Singana. Behind
the wheel, his pale hair lifting in the wind, his mouth smiling and his glance intent upon the earth
road ahead, he looked young and debonair. Quite different, thought Morny, from the man she had
encountered at Mrs. Bartletts. No shadows were apparent, no spurious note tinged the lightness
of his voice.
Is your work tiring? she enquired conversationally.
Thats a strange question on a bright afternoon. What prompted it?
You were either worn out or fed up when I met you the other day.
Oh, that. He drove for a minute in silence. It wasnt the workI hadnt done such a lot that

day. I suppose Id had too much time to think; then Vera said I ought to have gone in for medicine
or the law... He shrugged. I wouldnt make a good doctor or a good lawyer, but in either Id
have got through somehow, and become established somewhere. The devil of it is that in forestry
one has no home.
Is that so important? Youre young, and have all the time in the world to settle down, and
youre doing the sort of job you like best.
Before answering this he gestured towards a private road which was signposted Minona. The
managing director of the mine lives there. From the front of his house you get a marvellous view
of the lake and mountains.
Morny looked back, but there was no sign of a roof. Minona was doubtless buried among trees.
It seemed to be the last house out of Singana, for now the road ribboned ahead, tan-pink in the late
sun, with dense green growth on either side.
Ian reverted to their discussion. Ive been roving for three years, and it looks as if I shall go on
that way for the rest of my life.
Isnt there an alternative? Couldnt you go in for some kind of planting on your own?
Too expensive. You need plenty of capital to buy land and get going, and then you have to exist
while the crops mature. It would be an ideal type of existence, but I just havent the cash.
She smiled. Well, the obvious thing is to save now for middle-aged independence, but have a
good time while youre doing it. I think youre lucky.
His grin at her was appreciative. So do I. Today Im the luckiest fellow in Singana.
They wound among the low hills, looked down into ferny chasms and saw native women
scooping water in paraffin tins and carrying them serenely upon their heads. From hut doorways
piccaninnies waved, and showed their white teeth in laughter; most of them were unashamedly
naked.
Ian told her about his boyhood in England, how during a vacation he had accidentally contacted
some people who were experimenting with varieties of pine, and known instinctively that he had
to devote his life to growing things. Vera, then mistress at a high school and engaged to Francis
Bartlett, who was already in Rhodesia, had persuaded him to accompany her to Africa.
Ive never regretted coming, he said. Rhodesias a great country, and here you can plant on a

scale large enough to satisfy anyone. Ive never seen such timber, either.
Before darkness fell he reversed the car, and presently he took a narrow lane which, after
passing through a young natural forest of mopani and mvule trees, came out along the back of the
lake. The houses over there were incredibly far away, small white smudges in the darkening green
of the bunda. He stopped and leaned her way to get a view of the rippling indigo waters in their
cradle of hills.
The lake at this time of the day always reminds me of Wordsworth, he said softly. Lights
and shades, that march and countermarch about the hills in glorious apparition. Vera loathes this
particular stretch of water, by the way.
But how can she!
She cant stand speedboats and motor yachts, and nearly all those who can afford them, have
them. If wed got here earlier youd have seen plenty of aquatic action. The lake is three miles
longthe best of its kind in Rhodesia, Im told. Theyre holding a big regatta in about a month
the first in Singana. The countrys crack boatsters will be out after records.
Mornys knowledge of boating was meagre. True, she had once gone for a trip with other
students in an alleged speedboat, but her recollection was of wetness rather than speed.
Do they go in for surf-riding? she queried.
Yes. Come down with me in the morning and youll see plenty of stunting of all kinds. Bring
your swim-suit and try aquaplaning for yourself.
Im not that adventurous, she said, but I would enjoy a swim.
Soon they drove on, around the neck of the lake and up a steep incline towards the club. It was
dark, and they had the road to themselves; not quite to themselves, for a lithe shape emerged from
the bush, green orbs were transfixed for a second by the car beams before they were left behind.
What was that? breathed Morny.
A leopard, I believe, he replied, not too steadily. Did it startle you?
It scared me pink. Its my first, after all.
You more often see lion than leopard in these places. I used to be paralysed with fright till I

discovered that the beasts really are more afraid of us than we are of them. Im a terrible shot, so
if I meet one of them among the trees I just stiffen up and hope for the best. Youre safe enough in
a car. They cant stand the noise or the smell.
Nevertheless, Morny was relieved to enter the illumined path of the club grounds and to see the
wide, inviting portals of the building itself. A leopardand so near to civilization!
Like the rest of Singana the club was new and designed to please. The semi-circular hall was
plentifully supplied with flowers and pot palms, the armchairs and divans were well spaced
about wrought-iron tables with glass tops. The dining room was lofty and pillared, and the darkskinned waiters in neat white jackets and black trousers were numerous and expert; there is no
one so conscientious to perform every detail of the job he has learned as the urbanized African.
They were served with an excellent soup, grilled trout with seasoned butter, some veal and
steamed squash, and a frothy pyramid of chopped fruit and ice cream. After coffee and a cigarette
outside, they danced. Morny was presented to other young people, some of them married, the rest
bachelors who at once threw out invitations which she did not take too seriously.
When Ian took her home through the starlit night she was happily spent. They parted at the gate,
unaffectedly smiled at each other and admitted to a delight in one anothers company.
This has been my best day for months, he said. Well do it again, often.
She shook her head. Its too expensive. You must have dinner with us next time.
Id like that. About tomorrowwill you be ready at nine-thirty in the morning?
To the minute, and I shant forget the swim suit. Good night.
She flitted up to the house. Inside she stood for a moment pondering on the warm sense of
security which friendship brings. Ian was uncomplicated. He was grave and a wee bit dreamy, but
such qualities were comprehensible, even endearing, to one such as Morny.
Unaccountably, standing there, she recalled that tomorrow evening she and her uncle were to
dine with Grant Randall, and her heart sank a little. She wondered if the day would ever come
when she would feel at ease with that man.

CHAPTER FIVE
A s WAS their habit, Mr. Malony and Mr. Reid came over on Sunday afternoon. This time they
arrived in separate cars, and as soon as he had absorbed a cup of whisky-flavored tea Mr.
Malony made his apologies and departed; he had to see a man who was in town only for the
weekend.
The less rubicund Mr. Reid, however, accepted a second cup of tea without whisky, crossed
his legs and dragged a letter from his pocket.
Will you do me a favor, Luke? he asked in his quiet, stilted tones. It has to do with the
regatta. Seeing that youre meeting Mr. Randall socially tonight, I wondered if youd put to him a
somewhat delicate question. Youve heard of Bernice Ashley?
Uncle Luke considered. I believe so. Holds some boat racing record, doesnt she?
Shes the womens speedboat championa fine yachtswoman, too, and were anxious to get
her here. She wont race against our womenshes too big for thatbut weve had acceptances
from all over the country, and we could provide her with some competition.
Why not invite her up here?
I did, in the name of the sports committee, and this reply came from a man who calls himself
her agent, in Bulawayo. He says that Miss Ashley is a free-lance and wishes to be treated as such.
She might agree to come to Singana at the invitation of a private person of standing, but she cant
have dealings with yacht clubs.
Uncle Luke read the letter, slanted his grey brows. She sounds high-falutin. An agent, indeed!
I dont admire sporty women.
You dont have to, Luke. Just think of all the people wholl come to the regatta if Bernice
Ashley is racing. Theyll drive in from all the towns as far south as Broken Hill. Simply by
appearing, shell make it a whacking success, and incidentally help us to pay off a chunk of the
mortgage on the clubhouse.
Thats worth an effort. You want me to ask Mr. Randall to write to her?
Hed do more than that, for Singana.

Well, Ill do my best. Where would this exclusive person stay?

I thought Mr. Randall might settle that, too. The new house for the chief mine accountant is
ready for occupation; perhaps hed agree to Miss Ashleys using it for a week or two before the
accountant moves in; she couldnt possibly harm the place in that time. Its near the lake and has a
boathouse.
Uncle Luke nodded. You seem to have it all worked out. Ill speak to him.
Morny listened while they discussed how the regatta could best be publicized, but after a while
she went indoors to take a bath and change. It was not till she was stepping into the skirt of her
blue silk suit that she heard Mr. Reid depart. She went to the bathroom and set the taps running,
shook some salts into the water.
Uncle Luke, she called. In exactly four minutes your bath will be ready!
She heard him chuckle to himself, and smiled. His pleasures were the simplest in the world; no
wonder he was so well liked. His temperament, level and good-humored, was apparent in his
dealings with everyone; it leavened his writing, too. His editorials, even when they carped, were
informed with a kindly tolerance, and his articles were gems of wisdom and an almost
affectionate wit. He never dealt in malice. The big thing about Uncle Luke was his love of people,
his unshakable faith in the essential goodness of human nature. As far back as she could remember
he had been like that.
They were ready by seven fifteen; Morny in her short sleeved suit with the wide revers fastened
where they crossed by a seed-pearl brooch, and the flared skirt swinging gracefully from slim
hips, and Uncle Luke in a white dinner jacket, his hair brushed as flat as it would go.
Remember the driving lessons I gave you the summer before you went to college? he said as
they started out. Ive been thinking it over, and Im going to complete your tuition so that you can
use the car whenever you please. Its not much of a bus to look at, but it moves.
As a matter of fact, she replied in a smallish voice, one of the girls had a car that I used to
drive occasionally.
In London? he demanded.
Im afraid so. I never drove far, though.

Why are you afraid? Thats good going.

I didnt own a licence.
Good heavens, he said soberly. Im glad you didnt put that in a letter.
There was no danger. I was too nervous to be reckless. All the other girls could manage a car,
so I had to make a show now and then, but I never did it unless they chaffed me for being a
coward. He was silent, and she added, Not annoyed, are you?
He sighed. You know Ive never been that sort of wet-blanket. I was merely reflecting that you
must have had all sorts of fun when you werent taking exams. I hope Singana isnt going to be too
tame for you.
Of course it wont. Ive already made some friends. If only that beastly school would open Id
be happier than Ive ever been.
The school can wait, he observed equably. You concentrate on keeping happy.
He slowed to take the turn to Minona, and nothing more was said till they swerved between
white ornamental pillars and were rounding a gravel drive with a smooth lawn on each side. Then
he nodded towards two other cars which had drawn up nearer the house. We re not the only
guests.
Thank goodness, she said sincerely.
Grant met them in the porch, gripped Uncle Lukes shoulder for a second and suavely greeted
Morny. She thought his eyes flickered over her, and inwardly seethed; he considered himself
entitled to appraise anyone. But when they had entered, through a french window, a
preposterously massive and well-lit lounge, she thought she must have misconstrued his look. He
was aloof and conventional, the host introducing Luke Penroses niece to the mine manager and
his wife and to Dr. and Mrs. Frost.
He signed to a boy to bring more drinks, and soon Morny found herself on a chesterfield with
the doctors wife, sipping a somewhat potent cocktail and examining, with a bewildered eye, the
exquisite furnishings, the magnificent flower-containers dripping with all kinds of pink and white
flowers, the gilt-framed landscapes.
So, as well as being a materialistic mining man, Grant Randall was also something of an
aesthete. This face, she discovered, was not altogether palatable; it upset her preconceived

convictions about him. The house was large; she had vaguely realized that outside in the dark. No
doubt the rest of the place was faultlessly equipped as this room, and almost certainly there would
be an extravagant library and writing-room.
She had expected something big, but had imagined austerity as the keynote. Cubist furniture, a
wine bar, etchings on the walls. Nothing at all like this. She seemed to have got him completely
wrong.
Were those Greek bronzes in the long, carved cabinet over in the corner? And surely the
glasses they were using had a great deal in common with old, hand-cut Italian goblets and tasters?
Her own was small and cone-shaped, smothered with an ambrosial grape design, the stem
beautifully worked, and with thumb-and finger-holes. The topaz liquid scintillated. To Morny it
had the appearance of a sinister nectar. This was Rhodesia, not Rome.
She did not know she was staring at one of the crystal wall-lights till Grants head obscured it.
Then she caught his glance, narrowed and sardonic, and twisted quite fiercely to converse with
Mrs. Frost. She hoped he had not mistaken a pardonable astonishment for open-mouthed
admiration.
The dinner, of course, was sumptuous, the silver and glassware elegant. No one else was in the
least disturbed, but involuntarily Morny resented the food and fine wines, the unobtrusive but
ever-ready servants, the soft illumination from electric candles. Resented more the man who
presided like a handsome monarch at the head of the table.
The conversation flowed easily. All these people were closely acquainted and had met often in
similar circumstances. They discussed a variety of topics, laughed and argued. Morny was asked
to describe her reactions to the long journey up from the Cape. She gave them briefly, but
unwittingly infused excitement into her voice. She could never recall the sights she had seen
without a quickening of the pulses.
Grant permitted her to finish before commenting to the whole table with a shade of satire, The
young imagination afire with the mystery and magic of Africa is perennially refreshing, isnt it?
What a lot we have to learn about our own land from the youthful enthusiasts from Britain!
They say the newcomer sees clearest, she retorted quickly, but demurely, and for that reason
Im glad Im not a Rhodesian. Id never take the Victoria Falls and Zimbabweor even the
Copperveltfor granted. They havent their equal anywhere in the world.
Bravo, said the doctor. If you were a man Id suggest the government enlist you for their
publicity department.

Merely to show interest, Morny enquired, Dont women get the good posts in Rhodesia?
Its a mans country, Miss Blake, said Grant urbanely. Thats why its so pleasant to live
in.
Im afraid hes right, put in Mrs. Frost. In Northern Rhodesia the woman is inevitably a wife
and companion. The heat takes care of that.
Inevitably and indispensably, said her husband gallantly.
Grant wont admit that women are indispensable!
I admit, stated Grant, after sipping his wine, that you are indispensable to the doctor; that
Mrs. Landon, with a charming inclination of his head towards the mine managers wife, is
necessary to the wellbeing of Bill, here. Woman is primitive, yet its an odd fact that where she is
civilization thrives; even Luke bothers to knot his tie decently now that he has a niece in his
house!
Uncle Luke laughed. But youre from a different mold, Grant. Your life is so organized that a
woman in it could only bring upheaval. As to this being a mans countrymaybe it is, on the
surface. There was a time when the whole world was thought to be a mans world, but there never
has been a time when women werent mighty powerful under cover. Even you cant deny that. By
the way, talking of powerful women
There and then he fumbled about his pockets for the letter which Mr. Reid had given him. When
at length it was found he passed it along the table to Grant, with an explanation.
Bernice Ashley, Grant commented as he read. I remember her perfectly. I met her once, for
about five minutes, at a garden party or some such affair in Bulawayo. Shes supposed to be
fearless on the waterbetter than most menand shes extremely attractive.
Her name would certainly draw crowds to the regatta if we could persuade her to take part,
but she doesnt appear to be drawn to the north.
Dont worry, Ill get her here, said Grant with negligent confidence. Ill write her a personal
note tomorrow.
The talk turned to yachting and outboard racing. This year, for the first time, the mine was
offering a splendid floating trophy for the best speed on Singana Lake. The regatta was to become
a huge annual event, a magnet for sportsmen all over the country.

Coffee was dispensed in the lounge by two of the servants. Then the two married couples
arranged themselves at a table for bridge, and Grant strolled outside with Uncle Luke and Morny.
Except for the persistent chirping of cicadas it was a quiet, brooding night. The light breeze
brought the scent of tobacco flowers from the plantations on the hillside, and it stirred a bitterish
scent from the orange trees in the garden. As they stood in the verandait was spacious enough to
be termed a terracethe definite thudding of a drum became audible, and soon, in the distance,
hundreds of voices blended in the singing of an African hymn.
Thats from the mine compound, Grant explained to Morny. I told you the mine was visible
from one corner of my garden.
Which corner?
Its at the backa quarter of a mile from here. Care to walk it?
Go walking, if you like, but leave me to my cigar, said Uncle Luke, complacently seating
himself in a large rattan chair. At my age one has respect for a rich dinner and mellow wine.
Grant held Mornys elbow. Come on, then. We may be in time to see the Sunday evening
service. They have a visiting priest every other week.
The garden was dark. Except for the whiteness of the paved path, it was like walking through a
tunnel; most of the way not even a strip of starry sky showed between the treetops.
These are magnolias and kaffir blooms, most of which were here before the house was built,
he said in passing, To the left theres a young orchard of subtropical fruit, and at the end is my
boundary of eucalyptus trees.
I thought the front of your house looked over the lake.
It does, but the growth is so thick that you cant see the water at night unless theres a moon.
Youll have to come to lunch one day and well eat on the veranda. I never get tired of the view.
A pause. Did you get out in a yacht this morning?
No, she answered with reserve, but I bathed.
I saw you from my own boat. The bathing is better at this end of the lake.
So I was told. But I also understood that its monopolized by the mine executives. Id hate to

butt in.
You wouldnt be butting in. The lake isnt the property of the mine, he said sharply.
Not literally, perhaps. But, after all, the majority of the population get their living from or
through the mine, so its natural the mine staff should commandeer the best of whatever the district
offers.
If you intend to make your home permanently in Singana, he remarked with a trace of acid,
youll have to accept copper mining and all the people who go with it. Planters and forestry men
are doubtless more in keeping with your conception of men who open up colonial territory, but
its the minerals which bring wealth to a country.
Quite, she agreed. Youve made my point for me.
He let out a small sound of exasperation. Did you get those ideas from young Templeton? I
expect you and he have a grand time being soulmates and shuddering at mines, but I shouldnt
marry him, if I were you. You need someone bedrock, just as he needs a bedrock wife.
Morny was saved from the necessity of replying to this, for they had come almost to the end of
the path, and he had stopped and was pointing down over the bushy slope. About a mile away the
mining gear was a black shape picked out in red lights. To the right of it the compound was a
series of long buildings set among trees. Light streamed across a beaten earth yard, where a great
circle of dark figures in shorts and shirts listened with bent heads to a black-garbed African
preacher. At intervals they made a concerted interjection, and finally the priest raised his hand
and they dispersed. After their talking had become subdued, all was still.
Do their wives live there? she asked.
It wouldnt be so quiet if they did. The wives stay in the villages with their parents.
Dont the workers become discontented?
Not often. They belong to tribes in which the women have great influence. They work for
twenty-one months and go home with the bulk of two years pay. When the money is used up
generally within a yeartheir womenfolk send them back to the recruiting office.
By straining her ears Morny could hear the tinkle of music. Is that the radio?
It comes from my servants hutsone of those saucepan sets which are mass-produced in

England especially for Africans. Youve probably read about them. You can even hear them in the
bush villages.
She turned from him to look along the garden. Accustomed by now to the blackness, she could
make out the compact shapes of avocado and orange trees, the tall lush papaws, the straggly
guavas. Nearer, the clipped oleanders were spattered with waxen blossom, the smilax climbed
over an old thornbush left there for that purpose.
Not a dozen feet away something rustled in the low branches. Morny quivered and pressed
sideways. Grants hand swiftly hauled her back against him.
What did you see? he demanded.
I didnt see anything, but there was a movement in that tree.
It was probably a monkey. We get quite a few.
She felt his breath in her hair and across her cheek, pushed feebly at the hand on her waist. It
was foolish to start shaking as if the place were full of wild beasts, but I havent quite recovered
from seeing a leopard last night.
A leopard! Where?
Somehow she told him, though it was difficult to think clearly. His hand was warm and vibrant
not far below her heart, and he seemed to have forgotten it was there.
Doesnt Templeton carry a rifle in his car? he wanted to know.
No. He says hes a poor shot.
What an admission from a man who works among timber! So the leopard got away to kill more
defenceless animals or maybe a piccaninny. His hold slackened, his tone became impersonal.
Sorry if I hurt you. Come the other side and stay close to me.
As they moved slowly on, his left arm lay across her shoulder, but his glance searched the trees
to the right. The whispering in the leaves came again, and simultaneously a dull bumping sound
indicated fallen fruit. Grants right hand, holding a small black object, lifted from his pocket and,
almost casually, he fired. An animal screeched and broke off suddenly.
A baboon, said Grant. Theyre pests among fruit.

Morny had gone white and she felt sick. She knew baboons were ugly and destructive, that
when they turned up near towns they had to be exterminated. If the thing hadnt screamed she
would have minded less, but at that moment she was unnerved enough to scream herself. She
pulled away from Grant and tried to hurry on. But her legs were uncommonly weak and her vision
blurred. She stumbled, would have gone down with a crack had Grant not seized her in a vicelike pair of arms.
You little idiot, he exclaimed furiously, close to her ear. What the blazes dyou think youre
doing! You cant rush into the house like that. Take hold of yourself. Stop trembling!
Let me go, she said indistinctly. That was horrible. How could you kill the thing just
because it was stealing fruit? Let me go!
Not till you have control of yourself. Theres nothing brutal about doing away with a baboon.
Only a few weeks ago a baby was badly mauled by one in a private garden. He shook her angrily
to emphasise the words. Her head fell back and he saw her pallor, the big frightened eyes, her
dark parted lips. For a long moment he stared at her; then, quite gently, he drew her to lean in the
circle of his arm.
Poor child, he said softly. I dont suppose youve ever seen an automatic fired before. In
this country children grown up knowing all about firearmsthey have toand Im afraid I forgot
that the English dont walk around with weapons in their pockets.
Mornys cheek was against the white drill of his jacket, her hair brushed his chin. His strength
subdued her fright, but her heart was beating erratically from some other cause, and she tingled
unpleasantly. By an effort of will she stiffened and edged away from him.
That was silly. I made a complete exhibition of myself, she said in a voice which strove to
exclude all huskiness. I apologize.
After a few seconds he answered coolly. Your apology is accepted, Miss Blake, and in turn I
beg your pardon for treating you as a nervous fifteen-year-old. You hadnt the least fear, of course
you were only thoroughly disgusted at the wanton waste of animal life. Shall we return to the
house?
In silence, with her hands tight at her sides, Morny walked with him out of the darkness and into
the glow of the veranda, where Uncle Luke still sat smiling at the night, and smoking.
Did I hear a shot? he queried lazily.

Monkeys were raiding the orchard, Grant replied briefly.

He looked forward a chair for Morny and went into the house. Exhausted and inexplicably
miserable, she sank down and locked her fingers. Uncle Luke sighed expansively.
Ive been thinking into the future and congratulating myself on having the kind of job from
which I need never retire. Its a wonderful thing, you know, not to have to stop working at a
certain age. In a few years, when the paper is completely self-supporting, I can gradually hand
over to Clement, but I shall always be able to hang on to the reins and dictate the policy. I wonder
how much Singana will have grown ten years from now? You, my dear, he gave her the familiar
smile, will probably be well married. Its odd to think you havent even met the man yet, isnt
it?
She smiled vaguely. At the moment Ive no wish to meet him. How soon can we go home,
Uncle Luke?
Its rather early...
Grant came out holding a drink, which he gave to Morny. Would you like one, Luke?
No, thanks. He gazed in some alarm at his niece. Good Lord, Ive never seen you drink
whisky before, and by the look of it, it hasnt much water with it, either.
I thought she could do with it, said Grant in a tone which discouraged further comment.
He dug his hands into his pockets and moved over to the wall. The strong, aquiline features
were outlined upon the dark background of trees. His back leaned against a pillar and presently he
raised his foot to the parapet and rested an arm on his knees. His attitude was careless, yet Morny
was aware, without his speaking, of the rapier-like quality of his thoughts. Futilely and
desperately she wished the last half-hour could be expunged.
The Landons and Frosts will cling to the card-table till midnight, he said. Thats why I
always invite them together. I really wanted a word with you, Luke. Shall we all go into the
library? Your niece will find plenty to occupy her there.
I believe shes tired.
Grant didnt look at her, even uninterestedly. In that case Ill take her home now and she can
go to bed. Ill be back in twenty minutes. To Morny, as he dropped down the steps, he added,
Finish your drink while I get out the car.

Thoughtfully, Uncle Luke poked with a matchstick at the cigar ash on a tray at his side. He
made no effort to get you to stay, so hes irritated over something, and I wouldnt be surprised if
you know what it is. Youre not so tired, either. Why you and Grant cant be ordinary and
agreeable is beyond me.
Im not to blame. We just dont happen to like each other.
Why?
I dont know why, she answered huffily. I only know that I dreaded coming here to-night,
and now I wish I hadnt come. I dont care for Grant or for his house.
She jumped up. Theres the car. Ill go in and say goodnight to the others.
Nothing could have been more withdrawn and polite than Grants manner as he took her home
in the long cream car. They spoke hardly at all. He ran straight up the drive which led to the
garage, halted level with the house and got out with her.
Ill wait here till the lights go up, he said.
Thank youand thanks for the educational evening. Next time a man pulls a gun Ill be more
prepared.
Stick around with Templeton, he said evenly, then you wont need to be. I may have been
wrong about you twopossibly you do belong together. A tiny pause. Sure youve got your
key?
She nodded, said a swift, Goodnight, and went into the porch. She switched on the hall and
lounge lights, closed the door and stood straight and still till the sound of his car receded. Even
then she could not relax entirely.
The hush of the house was like the precarious peace which invariably follows calamity. It was
oppressive, unwelcome and somehow challenging, only a degree better than enduring another
hour in Grants mansion. She took off her suit, had a wash and slipped into a wrap, and for
something to do she made tea and carried the tray to the lounge. But the tea tasted flat and she
didnt really want it.
It was profitless to go on thinking about Grant, but she could not drag her mind from him. She
recalled the cruel bite of his fingers and the glitter in his eyes as he had shaken her, the incredible
change in him when he had imagined her no more than a terrified child, a nervous fifteen-

year-old to be comforted in the crook of his arm. The instant leap of her heart at his nearness she
did not dwell upon, except to reflect that when a man of thirty-five takes a woman into his arms he
probably knows what hes about, and simply through his expertness produces certain responses.
Of one thing she was convinced. Nothing of the kind would ever occur again!

CHAPTER SIX
IT took Morny a day or two to recover mentally from the dinner at Minona. She plunged into the
furbishing of Uncle Lukes bedroom, and made him grudgingly agree to changing round the bed so
that the roll-top desk could be manoeuvred into a less conspicuous position. He was given two
new reading lamps, an artistic bowl type for his bedside table and a severely practical one with a
blue light for the desk. His pale green rags were cleaned and a couple of rose-colored cushions
were dropped into the chairs. Pale green and rose were hardly a masculine combination, he
remarked, but he liked them heaps better than the stark blues and greens which men usually chose.
They were restful, too, when all he wanted to do was sit and think.
His old reading lamp, one which he had bought cheaply because it was a thing he could not do
without, Morny washed and repainted for use on her own bedside table. Having spent rather
lavishly upon the other three rooms, she had decided to use up the oddments for her bedroom,
with the result that her cushions were gaily striped, and a delightful array of queer pieces
ornamented the top of her bookshelf.
When she had first arrived in Singana she had seen the months ahead as a delicious vista of
billowing cretonnes and all the other appurtenances to housemaking; she had imagined that the
tasks would be endless. That was nearly a month ago, and already the rooms were as complete as
limited money and much ingenuity could make them. She had tackled the work with too much zest
and impatience, and now only table linens remained to be seamed and embroidered.
The house did appear light and cosy and lived-in. Ian Templeton confessed that he would never
aspire to anything better.
A bungalow like this in about two acres of ground, he said. Preferably on the outskirts of
Singana, so that I could keep the few friends Ive made. Id cheerfully face the rest of my life in
such a place.
For a man of twenty-seven, observed Uncle Luke, you have singularly prosaic ambitions.
Anyone would think a marriage was in the offing.
Ian smiled self-consciously and evaded the question implicit in this remark. We Templetons
are serious-minded, but there seems to be nothing we can do about it. It helps a lot, though, to be
friendly with people like you. Morny never lets anything get her down.
She shrugged and smiled, Uncle Luke looked quizzical and changed the subject. But both were

glad to have Ian as a regular visitor, and Morny looked forward to the Saturday evenings at the
club, when they danced, and sometimes played table tennis or badminton. She was acquiring more
knowledge of Ian. She knew that though he was fond of his sister he also felt for her a keen
hostility. Because his mother had died while he was still a baby, Vera had been everything to him.
She had guided his schooling, his games and his reading; but for a fluke she would also have
decided his career and made him a dispenser of medicines or the law. He owed her so much, yet
apparently he had an enmity for her which was nearly as strong as his gratitude and affection.
After his third visit to Uncle Lukes house, Morny asked him anxiously if Mrs. Bartlett was
aware how often he came.
Shes aware and heartily approves, he assured her. I never avoid mentioning you, and she
invariably asks how you are. You made an excellent impression on Vera.
This was difficult to believe. Vera Bartlett would never allow herself to be impressed by
anyone, let alone by an inexperienced junior in her own profession. But there was an evening
when Morny and Ian, walking up from the tennis courts to the clubhouse, met Mrs. Bartlett
coasting slowly homeward in a friends car. Her smile, though no less frigid than before, had
definitely included Morny, and she had even restrainedly waved a hand. So much was puzzling in
this new life of hers that Morny was merely relieved by the womans acquiescence to her
friendship with Ian; she did not pretend to understand it.
The regatta was now the burning centre of most peoples existence. The newspaper bore a halfpage advertisement announcing that Bernice Ashley had kindly consented to enter for the Singana
trophy, and Grant Randalls name headed the list of judges and stewards. An article stated that
Miss Ashley would be arriving on Saturday, a full fortnight before the regatta; her two boats were
already on the way by train.
While shes here you can do me a favor, Morny, said her uncle. Watch her at practice on the
lake and get her comments. Being something of a celebrity shell expect to be on the front page, so
if she says anything snappy write it down. I dare say shell bring photographers, which means we
shant have to bother her with the camera till the big day.
Interviewing Miss Ashley, thought Morny, might be fun, and watching the trial spins would
undoubtedly be Interesting. Next week other competitors would arrive, both men and women, and
the activity then would be tremendous.
Late that afternoon Morny followed the red winding path through the bundu down to the pebbly
beach of the lake. The boat-houses, most of which lay to the right, were hidden among bottle brush
and pungent mimosa, but many of the boats were upside down in the open, drying off their new
coats of paint. On one or two the owners were still working, sketching in a thin gold or silver line

to break up the whiteness, or blocking in the name.

At the end of the lake and about thirty feet up the slope stood the new white dwelling which
was temporarily to house Bernice Ashley. Uncle Luke said that Grant had not only given in to the
suggestion without a quibble but was lending three of his own servants to ensure the womans
comfort. Every single detail of her stay in Singana was in hand. All worked out, as though she
were a film star, Morny reflected.
She recalled that in Grants opinion Bernice was extremely attractive; he also admired
fearlessness, so a meeting with the woman promised to be enlightening to Morny in several ways.
Yet deep within her Morny had a premonition of impending unhappiness which somehow was
tangled up with the coming of Bernice. It seemed fantastic that an unknown woman could threaten
her content, but the feeling hovered like a warning ball of cloud in a clear sky.
From the middle of the following week and for ten days thereafter the town gaily flaunted flags
and bunting. At the south entrance the word Welcome fluttered above the road, and the whole
way to the lakeside was illumined by arcs of colored lamps. As the regatta would be held in the
usual brilliant sunshine of this season, the lights were probably intended as a complimentary
gesture to the competitors who had taken up residence at the hotel. The town certainly had an air
of festive unreality by night.
Bernice Ashley arrived, and was the guest of honor at a party of yacht club members at Grants
house, Minona.
A grand-looking, lively creature, was Uncle Lukes verdict, after attending the function in his
official capacity. Her two interests are boats and men, with boats slightly in the lead. She has a
truculent look when she talks with women. I fancy she dresses well by instinct and hasnt the least
notion of how normal, unacclaimed women live their lives. She loves the limelight.
Three days after her arrival Bernice went spectacularly into action on the lake. Her skill and
daring, both with an ordinary speedboat and with an outboard craft, were breathtaking. Morny sat
on an upturned canoe and watched the expert dash across blue waters, the clever, seemingly
effortless turn and the race back. Bernice was always alone in the boat, though a group of
admiring yachtsmen with wives in the office were at the bank to catch a thrown rope, pull in the
boat and breathe their respect for her performance.
One morning Morny joined them, and after the practice run she met Bernice Ashley for the first
time. Bernice, in navy linen slacks with a white silk shirt covered by a tight-fitting jade cord
velvet waistcoat, was the epitome of feminine sportsmanship. Her short blonde curls had been
whipped into a mass of straw silk, and her face, which would have been really lovely but for the

slight hump at the bridge of her nose, glowed with health and vitality. She could have been
twenty-five or thirty. Her eyes, far from giving a clue to her age, revealed nothing at all; they were
china blue, and one felt that they saw only the sky and the skys reflection on the surface of the
water, and perhaps occasionally the spumy wake of her craft.
She stepped from the boat, dusted off the knees of her slacks and spoke with the slight
hoarseness which some people find engaging.
Its a marvellous stretch of water, the best Ive met for a long time. If all goes well, Ill have a
shot at beating my own record. You lucky men, to have such a pond in your back garden.
We like it, said Mr. Reid deprecatingly, as if his view were negligible compared with that of
Bernice, but were only dabblerswe go boating merely for the fun of it. Cigarette, Miss
Ashley?
She took one and accepted a light. She turned about and Morny knew that for her only the lake
existed. The great leaning palms, the green-crusted hills and the far, filmy haze of the Chungwa
Mountains would have been equally part of the picture to Bernice had they been brickfields.
Remembering that he had a duty to perform, Mr. Reid said, Miss Ashley, may I introduce
Morny Blake. Shes the niece of the News editor and hopes youll find time to give her an
interview.
Morny dutifully smiled.
Bernice nodded offhandedly. Im not too good with women reporters, but come over to the
house some time. Ill have the dope ready.
Very well, said Morny.
Mr. Reid, who may have felt awkward about this casual treatment of his friends niece,
hurriedly glossed the moment with a smiling offer. When you need relaxation from speedboats,
Miss Ashley, any one of us will be happy to place a yacht at your disposal.
How nice of you. I do enjoy yachting for a change, and the lake is ideal for itbut Grants
lending me his. I know its a privilegethat he hates anyone else either to drive his car or to
handle his boat, but he thinks the yacht should be safe with me!
This drew reverent laughter. The sound of it rasped Morny; she discovered that she had had
enough for one morning, and retired from the conclave. She made her way round the bank,

climbed half-way up the path and sat down on an exposed tree-root. She would be glad when the
regatta was over and Singana had settled back into a peaceful rhythm.
So it was Grant already; but why shouldnt it be? Their houses were not far apart, and
naturally Bernice was invited to all the social events which he was likely to patronize. It was
quite possible that they met every day, and she was the kind who instantly upon acquaintance uses
first names and demands favors. Not that Morny cared; she had no hankering to be of their circle.
But she did have some distaste for the task assigned to her by her uncle. She wanted to help Luke,
but to wait upon the woman in her house went against the grain. Who was Bernice Ashley,
anyway? Merely a woman who excelled in one particular sport; boat racing was her career, and
because she had no need to earn a living and could therefore concentrate all her energies upon
water speed, she had made a dazzling success of it. But what good was boat racing? Why make a
goddess of such a woman?
Some of this Morny put into words to Uncle Luke across the table at lunch time. He listened
benevolently.
Everything you say is true, Morny, he conceded, but it so happens that Bernice Ashley is
newsquite big news, for Singana. Fame and daring will always win the public, and she has a
large share of both. If you like, Ill send Clement to write up the interview, but what with the
regatta and the Limbusi link-up were frantically busy. I thought a woman might handle it better.
Morny doubted this last. But she said, Ill do it. Is there any hurry?
No. Well shove it in the last edition before the regatta to whip up a final spurt of enthusiasm.
Take your time about it.
Morny put it off a few days. She stayed away from the lake, too, though it was impossible in
odd moments of stillness not to hear the muted roar of the speedboats engines. All the visiting
competitors were practising along the measured mile, and each day the spectators increased in
numbers.
It was a pity for Joe, but fortunate for Morny that the cook-boy should fall sick for a couple of
days just then. Rolling his eyes and plainly and immodestly indicating the region of his trouble,
Joe complained of excruciating pains in his stomach. He had been eating the meat of a snake
which had surely had dealings with a witch-doctor before death, and now he, of course, was
about to die. Uncle Luke gave him an immoderate dose of bismuth and Joe retired to his hut to
wait for the end.
Morny took charge in the kitchen. Though she enjoyed the cooking and thinking up new salads
and dishes, she realized why even the most housewifely woman in a hot country allows an

African to prepare the food, she had found that she liked heat; to her pleasant surprise the zenith of
the day, when the sun burned directly overhead and the outdoors shimmered, never made her
uncomfortably hot. But in spite of the whirring fan and the thick shades outside the kitchen
windows, an hour over the stove opened up the pores and set the blood drumming. Nevertheless,
the two days of Joes indisposition helped, in some measure, to put Morny right with herself. To
beat up cakes and puddings in ones own kitchen has a decidedly calming effect upon the
emotions, and ones patience in dealing with black servants is beneficial in other ways. A laugh
was ever a tonic.
When Morny got out the pastry-board Samson, the big boy who polished floors and furniture,
took up a companionable and interested attitude in the doorway. He watched her closely, and
when she finally rolled out the wad of trimmings and made criss-cross marks upon it in the timehonored English fashion, he gave a huge sigh.
Joe would let me have that, missus, he said sadly. Always he would let me have it.
You shall have it when its cooked, she told him.
Now, I want it, missussoft like thatbefore it is cooked.
Mystified, she held out the enamel plate. Samsons eyes glistened as he carried it away. Morny
cleared the table and set the tartlets to bake. Through the window she could see the boy at the
bushes in the garden, his face grave and pre-occupied as he peered deep among the leaves and
reached to pull down the branches of trees. When he came back and, with a pleased smile, gave
her the plate, she noticed with apprehension that the pastry had been torn into pieces and rolled up
into grubby balls.
You want this cooked? she asked.
Yes, missus.
She opened the oven, pushed the plate on to the top shelf and thought with relief that baking
disposed of most germs. The globs of pastry looked a horrible mess.
I will clean the pots, Samson announced magnanimously; he seldom worked in the kitchen
unless bidden to do so.
Thank you, she said, and then curiously: What did you do with the pastry while you were in
the garden?

He glanced at her in some astonishment, as if her query were too elementary to be serious, but
realizing that she had really been ignorant of his purpose, he dipped a hand into his trousers
pocket and brought out a fat green caterpillar.
There is a many of these among the trees. Cook in the white paste is very good, he said. Ten
minutes cook, I fetch him out.
Morny did not linger to hear more; she left Samson in possession and fled to the lounge.
Yes, after a spell in the modern kitchen with the less modern Samson and Thomas at her elbow,
her usual smiling disposition was almost re-established. The day Joe came back on the job she
made up her mind to visit Bernice Ashley.
The lake path was the nearest way to the new house, and when Morny took it at about four-thirty
there were no boats on the water and little activity on the bank. Buoys floated in the middle of the
lake, and to the left the wooden stands were just visible with pennants waving above them.
Mornys route lay to the right, where the houses of the mine staff nestled like angular birds in the
greenery on the steep lakeside. From Bernices boathouse a footpath ascended; it had not yet been
widened and fortified with tree logs at every yard as were the other private paths, but it was
obviously much used.
The house, when Morny reached it, had the bare appearance of most new buildings. The garden
had been marked out and bounded by a low stone wall, and a well-made path ran up to the step
between dried-up, turned earth. There was no growth anywhere, only the greyish-pink soil
waiting for rain. The road which led to the town must be at the back of the house, for the garage
faced that way.
Morny flicked blackjack seeds from the hem of her yellow linen frock, tucked in a rich brown
curl which had come loose during the short scramble, and walked boldly up the path to the
veranda. The door and windows were wide; that was why Grants voice emerged so clearly.
She did not take in what he was saying; she was too suddenly obsessed with the desire to
escape. But even as she turned she heard him ask, Wasnt that a footstep out there in the porch?
and the next moment he was confronting her in the doorway.
His regard was cool and appraising and not particularly surprised. Good afternoon, he said.
If youve walked you must be tired. Come in.
Im afraid Ill be in the way, she answered, with an equal lack of emotion. Would you mind
asking Miss Ashley when it will be convenient for her to give me a few biographical details for

the paper?
He stood aside. Come in and ask her yourself.
She hesitated, then passed him and entered a white-and-blue lounge. Bernice, reclining in a
long, upholstered chair, today wore a black skirt and a white chiffon blouse. Her brown, rosetipped fingers played with the immense gilt buckle of a black suede belt, and her slim ankles were
crossed upon the footrest of the chair, displaying gilt-studded black suede pump. This had been
her posture during the conversation with Grant; Morny was sure she had not moved a fraction.
Sorry to bother you, Miss Ashley, she said. I hoped youd be free.
Bernice frowned languidly. Oh, youre the girl from the Singana News.
Miss Blake has nothing to do with the News, stated Grant. The regatta has made them busy,
and shes voluntarily helping out during the rush period.
Morny couldnt see that this made much difference. He seemed to be slightly irritated, perhaps
because she had interrupted their tte-a-tte. Well, she hadnt known he was here, and he had had
the chance of sending her away. She sat down in the chair he indicated, watched the frown deepen
between Bernices oddly dark brows as she swung down her legs.
The woman yawned. Newspapers bore me. I never read themnot even the notices about
myself. To ensure that Im not misrepresented Ive had some information duplicated, so that Ive
always a few copies to hand out to newshounds. Excuse me while I get one, will you, Grant?
With an unhurried, feline grace she crossed to the door, stood there while he opened it for her,
and gave him a fleeting smile. Come with me, Miss ... er ... Blake.
Morny followed her into a bedroom and rested with her hands on the back of a chair while the
other woman extracted a couple of typed sheets from a leather writing case.
This stuff can be padded out, but the details must not be altered in any way, said Bernice.
And heres a new photograph. For a caption under the photograph just put Miss Bernice Ashley
chatting with Mr. Grant Randall, managing director of the Singana Mine Syndicate. Dont forget
that wording. And tell the editor to send me a dozen copies of the paper. I want to give them to my
friends and family at Bulawayo. She closed the case, and looked at Morny rather keenly. I
havent seen you around at the parties. I cant think whythey can certainly do with more girls!
Dont they invite you?
Im not acquainted with the people who give the parties. Im fairly new to Singana.

You know Grant.

Only through my uncle.
It occurred to Morny that Bernice Ashley might be considerably more astute than she appeared.
She had reached the apex of her ambition while still young, and what more natural than that she
could cast around for fresh fields? It might be that she was only now realizing that certain of the
sweets in life are apt to bypass the one-track woman; realizing it because Grant was paying her
attention and he happened to be rich, influential and not unhandsome. But Bernice was not easy to
fathom.
When they went back to the lounge he was at the window, staring down over the lake. He turned
and glanced at Morny.
Did you get what you wanted?
Yes, thank you. I wont trouble you any longer.
At this his eyes narrowed unpleasantly, but he said, If youre ready to go, Ill drive you home.
That isnt necessary, she said, remembering the last time he had driven her homethe night
she had dined at Minona. Ill go the way I camealong the lake path.
Bernice strolled between them. Give me a cigarette, Grant.
Automatically he flicked open his case, and when she had selected a cigarette he offered them
to Morny. She shook her head, and the case snapped shut and was dropped into his pocket. He got
out his lighter and worked it. Bernice, the only one smoking, blew a grey cloud and surveyed them
through it.
Why not permit Miss Blake to please herself, Grant? she murmured. I dont think we should
deprive her of the pleasure of a walk. The early evening is perfect, the best time of the day for
exercise, especially if one isnt accustomed to this climate.
I dont care for the idea of a woman walking alone in the bush so late in the day.
Ive become used to it, said Morny hardily. Goodbye, Miss Ashley.
To Grant she also submitted an abrupt Goodbye, before walking quickly from the house and
hurrying down the path to the lakeside.

CHAPTER SEVEN
FOR two or three minutes after leaving Bernices house, Morny kept up a fast pace, as if she were
afraid of being followed, but suddenly, limply, she stopped and sat upon a large, rounded
outcrop.
She stared at the water which lapped nearly to her toes and there, in the warm dying day with
gold-dust all about her, she shivered, and knew not why. She saw two native boys putting out in a
crude little coat and recalled that fishing was forbidden till after the regatta. She didnt blame
them, though, if they fancied a fish supper. Food was more important than sport.
It was the recollection that Joe, who might still feel seedy, had been given no orders for dinner,
which brought her once more to her feet. There were steaks to be tenderizedthe African bullock
was of tougher fibre than the Englishand her brain would have to climb from its lethargy and
think up a pudding.
She was no sooner stepping out than Grant was there, striding towards her.
Youve been the deuce of a time, he said tersely, the moment he reached her. What the hell
have you been doing?
I rested, she replied, above the quickened beat of her heart. No restriction on that, is there?
You could have saved yourself fatigue by leaving Bernice s house with me, but you had to be
darned independent and march out. He twisted and walked at her side. I drove straight to your
place and came down the path to meet you. When you were nowhere in sight you had me scared.
Why to-day, particularly? You dont usually follow my movements.
He allowed a silence to develop between them. Then he looked down at her small, averted
face. Lets call a truce, Morny. I can be a devilish enemy, but Ive no wish to be an enemy of
yours. I want us to be friends. Dont you?
His softness brought a strange tightness to her throat, a breathlessness to her voice, This is
sudden ... but, all right. Were friends.
Good. We ve got somewhere at last. He inserted a proprietorial hand into the crook of her
arm. We re friends, and dont forget it. Im fairly tied up till the regatta is over, but after than

well get together more often. Ill make you like the mine and the people who run it.
How?
He grinned mockingly. You can tackle the most difficult part firststart with me.
And if I fail?
Dont lets be defeatist, he rallied her. Perhaps you havent seen me at my most likeable.
Other people dont seem to think Im so bad.
They had reached the point from which the path ran up from the lake to the backs of the houses.
The upturned boat was still there, still displaying a splintered hole where it had been unskilfully
broadsided upon the beach. Grant gave a gentle tug at Mornys arm.
Sit down for a few minutes. This view is one of the best, isnt it?
She nodded. Im always glad Uncle Lukes house is this side of town. Who chose the site?
He didwith a private eye to your preferences, I believe. He knew youd wish to be near the
lake. Do you find the house big enough?
Its just right. Uncle Luke says hell be content there for the rest of his life, and he loves the
garden.
And you? His tone was quietly bantering. Will you be content there till you marry?
Naturally, she said lightly.
After a pause he said, You believe in marriage, don t you?
Disconcerted, but carefully preserving the nonchalant tone, she answered, I confess I do. So
do all women.
All women believe in the gold band and having a man of their own, but theres a heap more
than that to marriage. On the whole, young women know very little about the man they marry till
its too late for either of them to back out. Theyre blinded by the romance of it. The future for
them is based on rosy hopes and silken dreams. They expect miracles.

She smiled. I thought Rhodesian girls were more of the earth. You and I have opposing views.
You want your woman cured of romance before you marry herat least, she qualified hastily, I
think thats what you mean. But t Id have to take romance into marriage with me, and Id try
never to let it go. That gives you a good laugh, doesnt it?
His glance at her was whimsical. Youre quite sweet with your claws sheathed. Unpractical,
of course, but sweet. Romance is ephemeral, my child, but marriage is only too real.
You make it sound grim. I see now why youve never taken a wife.
You do? His greenish-hazel eyes jeered at her. What are your deductions?
They werent difficult to arrive at. The woman youd marry doesnt exist.
The moment the words were out Mornys thoughts sped to Bernice. Miss Ashley was as
hardheaded and unromantic a person as youd find. She had guile, the glamour attaching to her
profession, and a feminine instinct for making the utmost of an excellent figure, but she was
fundamentally incapable of thrilling to the beauty of an enchanting night, to a caress or an
endearment. Morny couldnt have said why she was sure of this, but she was.
A trifle crisply, Grant said, I came to that conclusion some time ago. If I were to fall in love
no one would be more surprised than I.
For some reason Morny was gazing rather hard at her locked fingers. But she spoke flippantly.
Well, lets hope youre let down gently. You started this topic. It s up to you to rescue us from
it.
I like your frankness, he told her, even though it does hide a sort of cowardice. You re a
romantic because youre afraid of real feelings. You prefer safety to the delicious dangers of
letting yourself go. Youd be content with a light arm about your waist and a chaste murmur of
love in your ear. Someone ought to warn you.
Catching his mood she enquired mischievously, About men? Why dont you do it?
Maybe I will. But he didnt do so at once. He shifted so that he could watch her face, and
smiled with private enjoyment as her color began to rise. Have you ever been kissed?
Not ... seriously.
He gave a short laugh at this. Im glad to hear it, though I knew the answer before I asked. If

youd been seriously kissed, little one, youd have no airy-fairy notions about love. Men havent
got them, I can assure you.
Ive not admitted to having them myself, she said. Im innocent till you prove me guilty of
being afraid of real feelings. You threw out the accusation.
He considered for a moment. Perhaps well leave it there for the present. After all, weve
only just become friends. Be a pity to risk a rift so soon.
She looked away from the tantalising eyes and mouth, saw shadows lengthening across the lake
and the hillsides, and stood up. Ill have to go now. Our cook-boy has been unwell and may have
lost his grip. Uncle Luke likes his dinner to be ready at seven.
They climbed fairly fast. By now Morny was well acquainted with the idiosyncrasies of the
path, and Grant gave a helping hand whenever necessary. He talked about the early days of
Singana, when the land now covered by the town was a forest of redwoods and lesser timber, and
the mine, in its initial stages, was a mass of unassembled gear surrounded by temporary living
quarters.
We lived in wooden huts, and shaved and took a bath in the open. We had most of our meals
outside, too. There were no women, of course; they didnt come till the first dozen houses were
completed. It took three years to accommodate the whole staff, and the day the temporary quarters
were demolished we celebrated by cooking chops and steaks in the flames and generally making
merry till midnight. It was a wonderful night, I rememberwarm and full of stars. We d
purposely chosen the full moon, and it hung there like a great brass plate; it was nearly as light as
day, but much more mysterious. He smiled. Three engagements were announced the following
week, for which I hold that moon responsible.
Romance, you see! she said. So you had unmarried girls here by that time?
Two or three who were daughters of various officials, and some who came with their parents
from Limbusi. He paused to see her safely past a shoulder of rock. As copper mines go,
Limbusi is fairly old. It isnt a planned town; its just grown up gradually, and the first houses are
now dingy and an eyesore, though theyre still lived in. The place has certain aspects which might
interest anyone whos curious about the development of the Copperbelt. I realize youre not,
with a nip at the soft flesh of her arm, but all the same Ill take you there some time.
Morny forbade her heart to rejoice. She would never count on the least thing from Grant
Randall. But she couldnt help feeling warmly and cautiously happy, and optimism had always
been a part of her nature. She did not question why his touch tingled, why she could not meet his
eyes for long; her awakening was only half-accomplished, and an instinctive wisdom told her not

to hasten something which might end in heartbreak. In its present phase it was beautiful.
They passed through the mesh gate from the lane into the garden. Grants car stood upon the
front drive where he had left it, and near the garage door lolled Samson, regarding the vehicle in
some perplexity; it had doubtless appeared there while he happened to be somewhere else. His
black brow cleared at the sight of Grant, and he instantly abandoned his negligent position for one
more respectful and attentive. Grant did that to everyone, reflected Morny. Samson would not
have budged an inch for her, nor would he have straightened much for Uncle Luke, who paid his
wages.
Are you coming in for a drink? she said.
A short one, Grant assented, and followed her into the lounge. I have to go back to the office
for an hour.
She opened the cabinet, got out bottles and glasses. Will you pour while I check up on Joe?
Just a sip of sweet sherry for me.
She found Joe and Thomas in the midst of an amiable argument on the subject of white folks
vegetables. Thomas, from more frequent contact with his employers, averred that peas, pumpkin
and browned potatoes were correct with grilled steak, but Joe, who once had been the servant of
a missionary, thought it extravagant to cook three vegetables for two people. The boys often had
these discussions, though by now Joe should have concluded that his was a lost cause. If three
vegetables were available they had to be prepared and cooked.
Morny looked into the soup casserole, took stock of the refrigerator and decided that if there
were no time to prepare a sweet after Grant had gone they would have to fall back on fresh fruit
and shortbread fingers. There was some strawberry ice cream left from yesterday and a new
supply of cheese.
When she returned to the lounge Grant was critically examining the sampler. Your work? he
enquired. Its not at all bad, though they always strike me as sentimental. My mother brought one
from England over forty years ago which she had worked when she was about your age. It still
hangs in the old house at Salisbury.
Salisbury, she echoed, at once interested. Thats your home, isnt it?
It was, before I settled in Singana. A manager runs the ranch for me and lives in part of the
house. I go down for an occasional holiday. Im never sorry to get back here, though. He gave
her a glass, raised his own. To your eyes, Morny, he said teasingly. May they keep that

enviable brightness but never again sparkle at me in anger.

Thank you for the pretty speech, sir!
As soon as his drink was finished Morny went with him to his car. Samson sprang alive and
opened the door, but before Grant could slip behind the wheel a two-seater pulled up at the kerb
beyond the gates, and Ian Templeton got out.
Heres your twin soul, said Grant without expression. Is he the reason you were anxious that
the dinner should be ready on time?
I told you it was for Uncle Luke. Id no idea Ian was coming!
But hell stay the whole evening. He has that look. Does he often turn up uninvited?
She was quick to defend the approaching Ian. Hes not exactly uninvited. My uncle has said he
can come whenever he likes.
I dont recall their being friendly before you came; in fact, Im pretty sure they werent.
However, Grant shrugged carelessly and got out his car keys, youre free to choose your own
intimates. But Id prefer to see you attracted to someone with a little more grit.
Ian was too near for Morny to make any reply. Unconsciously, her smile at him became cordial
and reassuring, as if she were afraid he must be aware of adverse criticism.
Ever polite, Ian said, Hello, Morny; you look like a daffodil. Good evening, Mr. Randall.
Grant answered, shot Morny a glance heavily charged with sarcasm and backed the car from
the drive. A little vexed with Ianhe might have saved the daffodil comparison till Grant was
out of hearing!Morny led the way into the house.
Help yourself to a drink and find a book, she said. Im needed in the kitchen for the next half
hour.
About twenty minutes later she heard her uncle come in and begin talking to Ian in those genial
tones of his, and by the time Uncle Luke had washed and changed his jacket the meal was ready.
It was after dinner, while Uncle Luke was writing at the desk in his room, that Morny noticed
Ians restlessness and a faint compression at his mouth. For a while she went on reading, willing
herself to make no comment. But after he had thrown aside his magazine, stubbed out a freshly

lighted cigarette and paced into the hall, she looked up apprehensively.
Youre ranging about like a lost animal, Ian. Have you quarrelled with your sister?
His thinnish face drawn, he came and stood in front of her. Slightly. She s the most maddening
creature I ever came across. Theres no emotion in her, nothing vulnerable. You can t appeal to
her on the grounds that she was young onceshes never been young! The worst of it is, I can
always see her viewpoint so clearly, and sympathize with it, because even in her teens she was
old and responsible. For that reason I can never really row with Vera.
But why should you want to row with her? In the next breath Morny knew that she had no
inclination to hear the reason. She couldnt afford to be on Ians side against Mrs. Bartlett; and
anyway, she had no wish to take sides in a quarrel. Dont tell me, she tacked on swiftly. It
isnt my business.
I keep telling myself that it isnt fair to burden you with my problems, he said unhappily but
sincerely. Yet Ive never met a single other person so easy to talk to, and I do need to get another
slant on it.
I wasnt the cause of the upset between you and your sister, was I?
Heavens, no. You know already that she hasnt the least objection to our friendship.
Morny emitted an audible breath of relief. Then I believe Id better stay out of your problems,
Ian. I couldnt help, except by listening, and I often think its better to confide your troubles to the
night than to rely on a human being who might turn out to be completely disappointing.
He contrived a small smile, hitched his trousers and sat down in the chair opposite hers. Im
too fond of you to hurt you, Morny, and in any case I havent the tiniest claim upon you. Come on,
lets play gin rummy.
At ten oclock, when Ian had called Goodnight to Uncle Luke, squeezed Mornys hand and
driven away, she stood in the garden absorbing the fragrance which had been released by cool
air. The cicadas were as musical as usual, and the palms moved elegantly against a sky that
blazed with constellation. The scent of mimosa was nearly gone, but it was sufficiently
penetrating to remind her of the evening when she had first met Grant near the lake and he had
come up for a drink and a chat.
Grant, she whispered aloud, and a knot seemed to form deep inside her.

She looked at the stars, at the thin, waving fronds, inhaled the combination of scents and heard
the trilling of insectsand she thought how wondrously beautiful the world could be.

CHAPTER EIGHT
THE regatta was a success from the first race to the last. Enthusiasts thronged Singana, filled the
waterside seats and overflowed along the banks of the lake. Many events took place in the
morning, but the main ones started at four in the afternoon and finished on a climax of excitement
when Bernice Ashley made an attempt on her own record and beat it by half a minute.
Bernice, of course, had earlier won the ten-mile speedboat dash and was therefore the first
holder of the Singana Cup. As she was the only woman competitor in the race her win was
popular, and the beaten men had gallantly presented her with chocolates and nylons; obviously
they had been prepared for vanquishment.
Her handling of the boat had been nothing less than superb and her turns at each end of the lake
had been miracles of precision and daring. But for sheer courage and skill the record run at the
end of that day of sport had no precedent. The spectators were dumb till a blue flag flying from
the judges launch announced that a new record had been established. After that, applause echoed
over the lake in continuous waves.
It was Bernices dayshe had even sailed Grants yacht to victory during the morningand
she accepted her laurels unaffectedly and gratefully.
Morny, some way away from the seats of the honored, watched the prize-giving through Ians
binoculars. She saw Grants congratulatory smile as he handed over the Cup, saw his hand clasp
Bernices and hold it while he told her that she was a worthy winner and had given everyone the
thrill of their lives. Bernice, in white linen shorts and a white sleeveless shirt with a
monogrammed pocket, looked young and sporting. Her brown limbs were slim and strong, and her
face was so tanned that her short hair appeared more blonde, more attractive. She laughed, spoke
a few trite words into the microphone and posed for Clement with one arm in Grants and the
other cradling the huge, solid silver trophy.
There was no dancing for Morny that night. The club had been taken over by the sports
committee for a celebration dinner with Bernice Ashley as the highlight, to which all competitors
had been invited. Grant was there, naturally, and Uncle Luke went along for a couple of hours to
keep Clement on his toes with the camera. Next morning at breakfast Morny heard that the party
had been the most riotous that Singanaor even the Copperbelthad ever known. It hadnt
finished till the small hours. Uncle Luke confessed to being tired out and glad the whole business
was over.

As an annual affair it will be good for the town, and the arrangements will come easier next
year, with this years example to work on. I admit Ill be happy to see the bunting packed away
and the lakeside cleared.
So will I, agreed Morny. I suppose the yachtsmen and speedboat fiends go home today?
Most of them. A few got away last night between dinner and dancing. By tomorrow only our
champion will be left.
Bernice? said Morny, her heart plunging.
Uncle Luke glanced up from his grapefruit. Shes never been north of the Falls before, and
shes enjoying it. Grant has asked her to stay on.
Oh! Morny laid down her spoon and automatically began pouring coffee. Is she going to
remain in the mine accountants house?
The accountant happened to be present when we were discussing it. He assured Miss Ashley
that she could have the house for as long as she wished, and she accepted right away. That young
woman has certainly made some conquests in Singana.
She was bound tothey all admire her. I cant think what shell find to do here, though.
Thomas brought bacon and tinned mushrooms, and bore away the fruit remains. Morny served
her uncle, took a small piece of bacon and some toast for herself. Unc l e Luke sighed
appreciatively, regarded his plate for a long, enjoyable moment, and picked up his knife and fork.
What an institution is Sunday breakfast! Ive loved every one of them since youve been here.
He tried a mouthful before reverting to the topic of Bernice. As to Miss Ashley, she ll keep
occupied all right. Reids going to organize a mountain climb for her, and Grant mentioned a game
hunt. Shes itching to do both. That fearlessness of hers isnt a pose. She simply doesnt get
frightened. He shook his head in unbelieving admiration. Marvellous, isnt it? I only saw a lion
once and it was loping away into the bush, but I had the jitters for the rest of the day, and I never
drive out of the town now without wondering what I shall meet on the road. We re not
Rhodesians, Morny.
She had counted too soon on a return to the erstwhile peace of Singana. No atmosphere could
be peaceful with Bernice around. The paper would have to report her exploits complete with
flattering photographs, parties would continue to be given in her honor, and wherever she was
there would Grant be, smiling enigmatically in the background. But what of those other things

which did not seep into the paper? Drives into the country, dinner for two in the electric candle
light of Grants dining room, an intimate tea with Bernice draped on the blue divan in the new
house above the lake.
The pangs which rent Morny as each picture passed through her mind made her afraid. She was
being utterly crazy, allowing herself to drift like a schoolgirl into a passion for someone
unattainable. She was twenty-two and possessed of her share of common sense. Well, then, she d
better start using it.
In an effort to recover from the strain of the past two or three weeks, Mr. Reid was spending
that Sunday quietly in his quarters at the clubhouse. Mr. Malony had sent word that phlebitis was
troubling his leg, and Uncle Luke thought the old chap might be pleased if he and Morny showed
up at the plantation. So, in the middle of the afternoon, they set out in the tourer, and about half an
hour after leaving the town they angled into a lano between widespread acres of dusty tea bush.
The rains started early last year, Uncle Luke commented, but they finished early, too. Soon
we shall start having overcast skies and no wind. If were lucky, well get a few storms. The tea
looks good when its been rained on, and in flower its like masses of camellias. Malonys got
too much land here, but he wont admit it, and let some of it go.
The old tea planter was overjoyed to have visitors. He sat in the porch with his leg resting on a
cushioned stool, and waved them into nearby cane chairs.
Ive been bored to the point of tears, he said, and raving into the bargain. Here I go over to
see Luke Penrose every Sunday, Ive been fuming to myself, and never once does he stir himself
to come and visit me; who does he think he is, thats what Id like to know! I take it all back this
instant. Im glad you took the trouble to remember me. He looked at them both expansively.
Been worked up over this regatta thing, havent you? Cant imagine what they see in boating
however big the lake you can never arrive anywhere. I hear the Ashley woman made a show of
herself.
After the heroine-worshipping of yesterday, Mr. Malonys remarks were breezily
revolutionary. Morny felt better already. She liked the Irishman, and, watching him as he gave
attention to Uncle Lukes humorous description of the doings in town, she recollected that he had
first settled here with his wife, who had died within a few months and left him so lonely that the
only panacea was work, and yet more work. Then he had been a comparatively young man.
According to Uncle Luke, Mr. Malony was now sixty-eight and had no known relative in the
whole wide world. He was hearty enough, would most likely last many more years, but probably
when he had nothing else to do he got to wondering what would happen to the tea estate which he
had taken so much trouble to plant and irrigate, to shade with trees and to keep healthy. All the
work he had put into the place must sometimes seem pointless.

As if the gist of her thoughts had somehow been communicated to him, Mr. Malony gave her a
half-wink. I wish you were a boy, Morny. If you were, Id have you out of Lukes house and over
here, learning tea planting, so that I could sit back and do less.
Why pick on Morny? You could advertise for an assistant, said Uncle Luke.
I dont fancy having a stranger around, came the growled response. Besides, as the years
advance Im getting sentimental. We Irish are like that. I want to know the family wholl carry on
this place after Ive passed outand know them well. Its natural a sort of wish, after all. Do me
a favor, Morny. Marry a chap who comes of fa rming stock and move in with me. Theres no one
else Id rather have as a junior partner.
Again it was Uncle Luke who replied. Mornys incorruptible, he said with a grin. And
whats so exciting about marrying a tea planter? Youve told me yourself you havent had a
holiday in twenty years.
I couldnt have wanted one very much. You can always take a break if you need it badly
enough, and anyway, Ill be here for a while yet.
A long while, said Morny, so cheer up. The right person will appear one day, youll see.
I expect so. This darned leg is making me morbid. Go into the house and shout some life into
the boy, will you, Morny? I did bawl out to him to serve some refreshment as I saw your bus on
the road, but he seems to have gone to sleep again, or maybe he cant make up his mind what to
bring.
They had cool drinks, the men lacing theirs with the customary tot of whisky, and while they
drank they talked. The plantation spread before them over the hillside and into the valley where a
stream ran, and the sheltering trees marched across it in rows, evergreen branches spread like
huge umbrellas. An entrancing spot in which to be young and happily married, Morny conceded. It
was a pity Mr. Malony hadnt a son or daughter.
Darkness was hovering when they left him. Morny promised to come over alone during the
week, and to prove to Uncle Luke that she was capable of keeping her word, she drove the car
home and squarely into the garage without help from him.
For three days life was completely dull. Morny could settle neither to reading nor sewing, and
as gardening was impracticable except in the early morning or late afternoon, most of the hours
dragged along without relief. Uncle Luke came home with the news that Mrs. Bartletts meeting
with the parents had met with moderate success, but Morny was not required to be present. Some

weeks of inaction still stretched ahead, and it looked as though nothing could possibly happen to
give them wings.
When Ian unexpectedly walked into the house at four oclock one afternoon Morny could not
help treating him cordially. She had reached a state in which any guest was welcome. That his
smile was not spontaneous nor his demeanour in the least jolly did not fully penetrate her
consciousness till they were walking from the house and out among the trees. Then she saw the
lines of strain at his mouth and a frown between his brows which might be a symptom of
headache, and her sympathy was kindled.
Where have you been since last weekend? she queried, with determined cheerfulness.
We had to camp in the woods for two nights. I didnt get home till a couple of hours ago. I had
some food and a bath and came along.
You look weary.
I feel it, though it isnt so bad now Im with youyoure a restful person, Morny. The grass is
short here shall we sit down?
Morny was willing, though she had little desire to talk with him. She slipped down easily, to
rest her back against a tree trunk, and Ian lowered himself beside her and drew up one knee. For a
few minutes there was no need for words. It was peaceful here, less noisy than at midnight, for the
day-time insects were growing somnolent, and crickets and singing beetles still slept. Here,
where the ferns had been cleared, it was like an English wood, but more grassy and aromatic. No
acrid smell of damp tinged the scents of peeling eucalyptus bark and acacia.
Being with you is like coming home, he said. "In fact, all the way back I was thinking how
good it would be to see you. Youre so reliable, Morny, and heaven knows that after a couple of
sleepless nights under the stars thats something to cling to. Just as I want to ... cling to you.
Please dont mind my talking like this, Morny.
In the levellest tone she could manage, Morny said, You shouldnt really have come here this
afternoon. It would have done you more good to roll into bed for a few hours.
No, it wouldnt. Id only lie thinking the same old stuff over and over, and still arrive at
nowhere. Thoughts like mine cant change till one gets a new viewpoint on them. Im afraid thats
how it is.
A silence grew. His unhappiness enveloped them like something tangible; it was useless for her

to struggle to keep outside it. She stole a glance at him. His eyes were trained upon a root at
which he prodded with a twig; his longish light brown hair slid forward in a deep wave, and his
jaw was sharp with the intensity of his thoughts. She wished she could place a hand in the bend of
his arm and murmur that she was ready to listen.
The compassion within her must have been very apparent, for when he raised his head the blue
eyes went oddly dark and his expression changed. He twisted and put a hand on her shoulder,
leaned over and kissed her with a lingering, pleading pressure.
Morny stiffened, pushed him away, but not abruptly. Dimly, she understood that whatever it was
that plagued him was becoming too big for him to bear alone. Vera knew about it and was
inflexibly against him. But it had nothing to do with Morny. Nothing to do with Morny. He must
be forced to see that, she thought desperately. He must be made to understand that she could not
enter into his troubles.
He had moved, put several inches between them That was a rotten trick, he said. It shows
how abject Ive becomejust begging for your softness and pity. Im sorry, Mornyterribly.
Thats all right, she said, without a tremor. But please dont do it again.
Has it made you hate me?
Of course not. Youve allowed the miseries to get the better of you, and thats never very
wise. If youd only stand up to your sister you wouldnt feel compelled to assert yourself in other
ways. You didnt really have any urge to kiss me, did you?
In low tones he answered, Its not difficult to kiss a sympathetic woman, though I havent the
least right to kiss you. I care for you, Mornymuch more than you care for me, but it was wrong.
You see, Im in love with someone else.
She stared at him. Youre in love! Ian, is that true? Too late it occurred to her that this was it,
the secret she had striven to know nothing about. Too late, because he was already speaking softly
and urgently, his fingers tight over her wrist, his beseeching eyes not far from her own.
You cant possibly come to harm through knowing this, Morny, and you may be able to help
mesomehow I feel you will. Vera will never hear that Ive told you; she musnt hear. Itll be
between you and me, I swear it. You see, the girl I m in love with lives at Limbusi. Her father is
at the bank, and there are plenty of chances for Christine to marry in the town. I dont think her
parents dislike me, but theyre dead against my job. Their ambition for Christine is pretty high;
they feel that she should marry a man of substance and live in a smart house at the best end of

Limbusi. You cant blame them, but things dont always turn out as parents hope.
Morny was still staring at him, still mentally struggling to reject his confidences. Yet she asked,
How old is she?
Twenty-three. I dare say youll decide that shes old enough to choose her own life, but she
happens to be an only child and deeply fond of her parents. Thats the whole problem, really.
Does she love you?
Yes, Im sure of it. Shed marry me tomorrow if I were permanently stationed in Limbusi.
But, Ian ... Morny broke off and tried again. She ought to brave her parents disapproval.
After all, as soon as they realized you and she were happy together, theyd be happy, too. The
solution seems very simple to me.
It isnt, though. Put yourself in her place. Would you marry if your uncle withheld his
blessing?
Morny was brought up sharp. Would she? I dont know, she returned slowly, thinking how
terrible it would be to hurt Uncle Luke, but Im rather afraid I would. She smiled. A husband
has to be the most important person in a womans life, and if shes really in love shell risk
everything and go anywhere with him.
He released her wrist, sat moodily contemplating the shadowy spaces between the trees.
Christine isnt a bit like you. She couldnt have travelled to Africa alone as you did, from
England; shed be scared and helpless. Her whole life has been arranged for her. She rides and
shoots, but she never does either the hard way; whatever she does, theres always an African
servant in attendance. Her father has taught her practically everything, and ... well, she regards
him as all-powerful and completely dependable; to some extent thats understandable. Compared
with him Im new and untried.
Dont you think the fact that shed marry you if you lived in Limbusi is rather ominous? Papa
would be awfully near to run home to.
Of course its ominous. Ive been over every aspect of it a thousand times, he sighed
sombrely. But Im still in love with her, Morny.
She shifted her head on the rough surface of the trunk, eased the small of her back into a more
comfortable position. Im so sorry about it, Ian. I guessed you were feeling wretched over

something the first day I met you, and you seem gradually to have sunk deeper. Do you correspond
with her?
If you can call it corresponding, he said bitterly. I tip out my heart about twice a week and
she merely makes words on paper. Shes only fifty miles away; if shed co-operate we could see
each other every weekend.
Is she frightened?
Not exactly frightened, but shes keen on having a stabilized home, and for her parents to be
wholeheartedly in favor of her marriage. I wish there were some other work I could do, but at the
moment I can see no alternative to remaining attached to the forestry unit. Im trained in forestry,
and Id be useless at anything else.
But why should you give up forestry? As your wife Christine could travel with you around
Northern Rhodesia, couldnt she?
He drew in his lip. Yes. It sounds bald, but were both young, and that would be a sight more
bearable than being parted most of the time and never knowing when we might meet again. Pretty
soon now I shall be drafted east of Singana for six months. While we were at the camp yesterday I
sounded my boss, and he said there would be good married quarters available. Christine could
have an easy time and plenty of fun.
If you heard only yesterday you havent put it to her yet.
He shook his head. Letters are such dead things. I shall have to see her. Morosely he tugged
at a blade of grass. Its dreadfully difficult. How would you tackle it, Morny?
I wouldnt approach her in a mood of defeat, she said flatly. Apart from that you can only be
honest.
His head still bent, he spoke in a voice which had sharpened slightly with eagerness, though she
got the impression that he was putting into words something which had been in his mind for at
least several minutes. Will you go with me to see her, Morny? In her last letter Christine
mentioned that on Saturday her parents are meeting relatives off the plane at Broken Hill. Theyll
be away several hours. If we could both talk to her before they show up...
But how could I influence hera stranger?
Youre a woman. You could give her your own attitude towards marriage and help me to

persuade her that shell never regret taking a firm stand against her father. Make her see that I
ought to come first; that well never be happy together otherwise. He had dropped his studious
interest in the grass and turned to face her, half-excited, half-imploring. You feel a girl shouldnt
need coaxing to marry the man she loves. I agree with youfervently. But Christine does require
persuasion, lots of it. Morny, please!
She wanted to help him. Christine might be somewhat foolish and shrinking, but she was Ians
choice and had told him she loved him. That counted for a great deal. The life of an unsettled
forestry man might appear distasteful to one who had led a pampered existence; so much
depended on Christines innate courage and characterthe part of her which had so far been
permitted no means of expression. Morny remembered something.
Is your sister against the marriage, too?
He made a gesture of assent. Thats our bone of contention. Vera s hard and old-fashioned.
She thinks that no man should marry before hes thirty and that Christine is totally unsuitable in
any case. In a way, she and Christines father have the same notions. Shed much prefer that I
marry someone practical and adaptablebut Christine has never had the chance to be either. At
the end of our last flare-up my sister advised me to become engaged to you but not to marry for
three years, when wed both be of responsible age. Thats Vera.
I suspected it might be, she said soberly. But youre determined not to be frustrated by her,
Ian?
Quite. In many of her statements shes absolutely right. I cant give Christine the luxuries shes
accustomed tonot yet, and perhaps not for a long time. Also, Christines father will be critical
of all I do till we get a home of our own; and she and Christine arent likely to be ardent friends.
But I cant let those things count.
I should say not! She gave him a sweet, conspiratorial smile. Once your Christine has taken
the step she wont mind relinquishing the luxuries, and if she handles her father astutely hell only
be critical if his daughter loses her bloomand I dont believe a woman whos loved does lose
her bloom. Id rather have to deal with her problems than with yours. Im sure there are ways of
handling a doting father.
Youre a sport," he said. Youll go with me on Saturday?
Yes. How long will it take?
Well leave at about nine and have lunch there. If all goes well Id like to hang on long enough

to see her father and get things settled. Well be back by six at the latest.
Six, she said, as if memorizing. That will give me time to arrange dinner. And how do we
explain our absence?
Vera wont be curious; shell take it that Im spending the day with youtennis-playing and so
on. You can tell your uncle were going on a picnic. He smiled. Some picnic!
And do you promise that Mrs. Bartlett wont hear a word about it?
She wont hear a syllable. He took a long breath. Gosh, I feel goodlike a prisoner let out
in the sun after solitary confinement. The day after tomorrow Ill be seeing Christine!
Exuberantly, he kissed the small ear nearest him. Thanks for listening, he told it seriously.
Youve saved me from going crazy.
Morny laughed a little and stilled her qualms. The fight had not begun yet, but she was glad to
have helped him, even to so limited an extent.
Youre light-headed, she said. If I were you Id go home and make up some lost sleep.
He leapt to his feet and gave her a hand. Ill do just that. If I cant sleep, Ill daydream. Morny,
youre the best in the world!
They wandered back to the house, Ian talking while Morny pondered. After he had gone she
pulled a few weeds, still pondering. At length she came to the conclusion that she was no longer
in the least sorry for Ian Templeton. He was in love and, being a man, he held the initiative. He
had the power to get what he wanted. She wondered about Christine, and experienced a queer
stab of envy. In her shoes Morny would not have entertained a single doubt. Somehow she would
have won over the reluctant parents, created an atmosphere in which Ian belonged for ever.
Such mundane details were simple once one was in love, and beloved.

CHAPTER NINE
THAT night Uncle Luke went to bed straight after dinner. For him the most strenuous part of the
week was over; the paper was in the press, and tomorrow it would be delivered to householders
and sold by piccanins on the street corners. He need not bother himself unduly till next Monday.
Morny ruffled his fluffy grey hair. Shall I bring you a nightcap at ten?
No, thanks. I shall be sound asleep. Dont stay up too late.
I wont. Good night, Uncle Luke.
When the house was quiet she went to the door, intending to take a brief look at the night and
bolt up; she was rather sleepy herself. But as she reached the porch a noise caused her to peer
along the veranda. She thought first of a wandering leopard, then common sense told her that
Uncle Luke must have opened his french window for more air, but the footstep which came
immediately afterwards was not his. It was too firm and decisive.
Suppressing panic, she called quietly, Is that you, darling?
Then Grant turned the corner of the house and came into the rectangle of light from the hall. His
expression was amused and teasing.
Yes, it is, he said. How did you know?
Her heart moved, but she retained her gravity. I mistook the slam of your car door for
something else.
Were you expecting a swain?
One never knows what may turn up, she returned flippantly. My uncle has gone to bed.
Sensible of him. May I come in?
She preceded him into the lounge, rather woodenly subsided into a chair. Grant, also, sat down,
and stretched his long legs. Lean, brown and smiling, he was incredibly good-looking. His
shoulders in the impeccable pearl-grey suit were wide and strong, and the dark blue shirt and

matching tie were flawlessly smooth. In any garb, Grant was invariably fastidiously correct.
It was really you I came to see, he said, lazily leaning back. Any objections?
None, so far, she answered cautiously.
He laughed. You dont quite trust me, yet. Difficult creature, arent you? He paused, still
smiling. Reid, of the sports club, is arranging an amateur mountaineering expedition for early
Sunday morning. Therell be about a dozen of us, and if youd care to go part of the way Ill
guarantee your safety.
Thats nice of you.
I think so, too. The idea is to start out at four by car, do the easy walking and climbing in the
dark and watch the dawn break from one of the ledges. Its quite a spectacle, I can assure you.
Bernice and Mrs. Frost will be of the party, but I fancy the doctor wont permit his wife to overexert herself, and you and she could rest while we others scale the heights.
How very thoughtfulbut Im a little younger than Mrs. Frost, she reminded him, slightly
nettled.
His mouth twitched. I knew Id have trouble with you over that. Ever done much climbing?
Not a lot. But I was quite an outdoor girl in Yorkshire, believe it or not.
I do believe it, but Yorkshire s cold and Rhodesia is fairly warm. Bernice is tough, and used
to exertion in this climate.
It wont be hot at that time in the morning.
Hot enough, he said. And dont be too stubborn about it. I refuse to let you commit suicide.
She had to smile then. I recognize a tone of finality when I hear one. I suppose I ought to be
grateful youve included me in this jaunt. What do I wear?
A skirt, a sweater and flat shoes. Set your alarm for three-forty-five and get up the second it
rings. As soon as youre ready go out to the kerb. Ill be there, with a flask of coffee.
You think of everything.

With women around one has to. They seldom think for themselvesand that isnt a
challenge! as her lips moved. Even Bernice is inclined to forget essentials when shes out of a
boat.
She wondered what he classed as essentials and how Bernice had proved herself forgetful. She
would have liked to know how often they met, what they discussed and how they looked at each
other; all the tormenting trifles which would never be divulged.
Casually she enquired, Is Bernice Ashley staying on indefinitely?
For about a month. It so happens that Singana appeals to her immensely. The lake is half the
attraction, but since the regatta shes wild to get outside the town and do some mountain climbing
and game hunting. Shes an unusual woman.
His tone was non-committal; calculated, thought Morny, to discourage inquisitiveness. Which
was a bad sign, whispered her heart.
But he added, Bernice has even become interested in copper mining. She hasnt your distaste
for mining gear among the trees.
You dont intend me to live down those few rash words, do you? she said. They were
spoken when I was entirely new to the place and thrilled with the beauty of it, but you harp on
them as if my opinion had importance.
No, no, he said calmingly, but with sarcasm. First impressions are hard to expunge, thats
alland I happen to have an affection for the mine. Another early impression has stuck fast in my
mind, too. Schoolteaching isnt your profession, Morny.
Oh, yes, it is. I hope youre not planning to get the council to kick me out, she replied with
spirit. Since were on the subject of early impressions, my first one of you was that you had far
too much influence with the town authorities, and with everyone else, as well. I havent changed
that, either.
His smile bantered, and he said soothingly, Never mind, you will. He paused and added,
Are you friendly with Mrs. Bartlett?
I hardly ever see her.
You keep on sweet terms with her brother instead. Itll be a bump for you when his unit is
transferredand I hear it wont be long now. Youll miss him.

Yes, I will, she said, lifting her chin. He and I have much in common, and we dont worry
or try to hurt each other.
Thats lovely, of course, but friendship between a man and a woman doesnt remain for ever
on the ethereal plane, he informed her kindly, almost paternally. It just cant happenhuman
nature being what it is. I shouldnt be surprised if even Templeton could kindle, given the right
surroundings. Its my guess that as his time here grows shorter the surroundings will cease to
matter. Hell be satisfied merely to get you alone.
Some time, she replied evenly, Ill tell you how good a guesser you are. Do smoke, if you
want to.
He didnt. He got up, dwarfing the furniture, smiled mockingly down at her. You smoulder
quite prettily, particularly now that youre acquiring a tan. Eyes always sparkle more brightly in a
tanned face. Has your hair always been streaky like that?
She gave him an exasperated nod. With Grant you could never be certain what topic would
crop up next.
I like it, he said.
Im so glad, she told him with a hint of his own satire. She wasnt aware that she appeared
small in the high-backed chair, that her face, lowered away from him, had no satire in it at all, but
was soft and young with the flush rosy upon her fine cheekbones and the lashes dark against her
skin.
She felt him touch her head lightly, held her spine rigid, willing herself to pay no attention.
Then his hands were in his pockets and he was carelessly passing her chair and packing into the
hall.
Be ready on time on Sunday morning, and dont burden yourself with anything heavier than a
handkerchief. Come and bolt this door as soon as Ive gone.
She was at his side. All right, she said, in a voice which was tight and small.
Goodnight, Morny.
Goodnight, Grant.
He pulled the door shut behind him, and she stood for a long moment gazing at the cream panels

and unconsciously awaiting his ringing tread on the stone steps.

A rap at the door. Shoot the bolt! he commanded.
She obeyed instantly with smiling vexation, and at once began to switch off the lights. But in the
lounge she hesitated, breathing in a smoky fragrance which she fancied still lingered in the
vicinity of Grants chair. Gently, but with a strange compulsion, her fingers lifted to press her hair
where Grant had touched it, and ardently, unreasonable, she was glad he had liked its silkiness
and did not object too strongly to the funny gold strands in the mahogany brown curls. She asked
herself whether he was in the habit of noticing womens hair, but could form no reply.
In the shapely hall mirror, as she passed it, her head had the glint of copper, and she rejoiced.
But later, as she undressed and got into pyjamas, the word copper began to assume a more
sinister significance, for she recalled his little taunt about Bernice showing an interest in the
mine. Not a technical interest; hardly a woman in the world would be genuinely fascinated by the
processes of extracting metal from crushed rock. Women werent constructed that way.
Bernice found Singana immensely appealing; she had suddenly become aware that there were
mountains in the district, and as swiftly decided that it would be exciting penetrate the bush and
bag leopard and lion. She had doubtless donned one of the metal helmets and a sporty suit of
dungarees, and descended the mine shaft on a tour of the oppressive, busy tunnels. Once she had
her eye on an objective it was impossible to daunt Bernice; and in all her ventures Grant was her
companion and guide.
A month must pass before Bernice might be expected to depart for Bulawayo, reflected Morny
with a sigh of depression. So very much could happen in a month.
Early on Saturday morning Ian and Morny set out as arranged for the town of Limbusi. The road
lay for the most part between mile upon mile of impoverished-looking savannah. The district, not
yet cleared of tsetse fly, was wholly devoid of cattle, and only an occasional thicket of trees and
the scribble of blue-green hills on the skyline relieved the khaki monotony. There were plans,
said Ian, for converting most of this into teak forest and tobacco land, but the task would be
colossal because of the vast amount of preliminary irrigation work which would be necessary.
He drove with speed and abandon, not talking about Christine, but obviously thinking of her to
the exclusion of nearly everything else. Each time a car approached in a bustle of red dust he
wound up the window, and after the dust had subsided he automatically turned the handle the
other way; but he was actually on a white cloud in a blue sky, sailing towards another billow of
white upon which reclined his inimitable Christine.
Limbusi appeared first as a couple of spires in an amorphous mass of off-white stonework and

red roofs. There was no wide main thoroughfare through the town, ; and most of the buildings on
the twisting streets were slightly out of date, the shops too small and unimaginative for the
growing population.
Ian took a road to the right which eventually writhed away between the more modern, wellspaced dwellings of the well-to-do, and presently he braked in front of a white house with green
shutters.
Were here, he said, not too steadily. Lets hope shes in.
Hadnt I better wait while you make sure? asked Morny. In any case, youll want to see her
alone first.
No, come with me. Youre as good as a second backbone, and I need that right now.
So together they walked up the long path. But they had not reached the steps before a girl came
running out, a slim, black-haired creature in a flowing blue-and-white frock and taper-heeled
sandals.
Ian! Darling, Im so happy to see you, though I was half afraid you wouldnt come... She
checked herself and looked at Morny.
Ian, daring at last to breathe properly, took her hand. Christine, this is Morny Blake. Ive told
her all about us, and she wanted to meet you. He barely allowed the girls to greet each other
before demanding, Were you really expecting me, Christine?
Well ... her fingers closed confidently round his hand. I purposely made an elaborate
reference in my letter to mother and daddy being out of town today because I knew if you felt as
... as tangled up as I did youd have to come. But there was a last-minute alteration in the plane
schedules, and my aunt and uncle were due to arrive yesterday evening instead of today, so the
parents left yesterday afternoon. They stayed at an hotel last night and will be back here by lunchtime.
What filthy luck, he groaned.
You and Morny can lunch here too. Ive only to tell the cook.
Its early yet, and weve a lot to talk about before making that kind of decision. How have you
been keeping, Christine? You look wonderful.

If youll find me a magazine, inserted Morny mildly, Ill retire to the car for half an hour.
No, you mustnt, he said firmly. Business firstand Mornys in on it, Christine. I hate to
rush straight into it like this, but if your father and mother are due home this morning weve no
alternative.
Somehow, all three were sitting on the lowest, red-polished step; three serious young people in
the sunshine. Christine, of course, was in the middle; one could imagine that she was always
protected on both sides. She had a good skin, clear, birdlike eyes, golden-brown arms and soft,
well-kept hands; she probably wore gloves when she went riding and never had washed dishes in
her life.
Morny, In her simple, tailored frock, sat with an elbow on her knee and her chin in her hand,
while Ian explained that his transfer was imminent and that Christine must decide what she was
going to do.
Quickly, if a little awkwardly, he went on, The chief gave me to understand that the married
quarters are separate houses and decently furnished, and theyre part of a married mans salary.
Id also get a marriage allowance, so we wouldnt be at all badly off.
Ian, you know it isnt the money!
Yes, I do. Im merely trying to sell you the idea. Its for six months, Christine. I cant see
beyond that at the moment, but it wouldnt be such a bad start to marriage. We d have a
marvellous time keeping house on the edge of the woods. Thered be horses and you could collect
as many pets as you liked. Youd even be able to do some entertaining, and at week-ends wed go
to the nearest town and perhaps dance or go to a cinema. You wouldnt have time to be bored.
Dont, pleaded Christine, on the verge of tears. You dont have to offer bribesyou know
that. We ve been over it so many times. If I had a brother or a sister I wouldnt so much mind
leaving mother and dad, but Im all they have, and theyd worry dreadfully if they thought Id have
to move house every few months. Mothers never been strong, you know.
Cant they be made to realize you couldnt be in better hands than mine? he said impatiently.
They have one another, but Ive no one if I cant have you. Id take such care of you, Christine!
And travelling about wouldnt hurt us for the first two or three years. By then Ill have saved
enough to put down a substantial amount on a place of our own. There are big profits in forestry
and farming, if you can run them together.
Youll save more without a wife, she said bleakly.

Christine! Are you suggesting that we postpone our marriage for yearstill I can afford to buy
a house and a few acres in this district?
Seemingly she was. A silence ensued, lasted so long that Mornys nerves began to jump. The
whole business was much more difficult than she had anticipated. She tried to see herself as
Christine Levitt, with parents adored and adoring, the mother a little delicate. Her sympathies,
which the other day had been entirely with Ian, were now divided between them. What a frightful
dilemma for poor Christine. Yet there must be a way out of it. People didnt meet and fall in love
to no purpose. They were intended to marry and share their lives, not to become so embittered by
years of separation that when eventually their marriage was possible the romance and idealism
had fled.
She remembered Grants derisive remarks about romanticists and said fiercely within herself,
Yes, romance! There must be a solution, if one could only think of it.
To end the silence she put a quiet question. Wouldnt your father help you and Ian financially,
Christine?
The girl raised a glance which was myopic with unshed tears. Hes a bank manager and lives
up to his salary; hell get a pension, you see. Mother and I have everything we wanthed rather
have it that way. I have some money of my ownsums hes given me for my birthday and at
Christmasbut it isnt nearly enough to be of any use to Ian.
I wouldnt accept it, he said abruptly, then shot to his feet and strode round the garden and
out of sight.
Morny was not sorry to see him go; it made her own problematical part in the discussion less
embarrassing. Even so, it was several minutes before she could make a plunge. They sat there,
each moodily intent upon the gate.
Do you talk to your parents about Ian? Morny asked at last.
Theyre aware he writes to me, and mother generally wants to know if hes well. Shes quite
fond of him. Fathers different. Hes anxious for me to marry and would force himself to welcome
any man whod make me happy. But from his point of viewhes an absolute pet but slightly
Middle Agesits impertinent of any man to offer marriage if he cant back up the offer with a
settled home. And, honestly, I think a home is indispensable, too.
Youre really in love with Ian, arent you?

Ill never marry anyone else, she answered with direct simplicity.
Morny warmed towards her. Christine might have been overindulged, but she wasnt spoiled.
Basically she was as sound as Ian himself. She was capable of travelling with him, of having fun
in the wilderness, of bearing all the small hardships without much complaining. But her parents
pulled, and she was desperately anxious not to hurt them, either by a marriage in which they
would find no pleasure or by being parted from them for many months at a time. It was very easy
to see her side of it.
You see, Christine went on reasonably but with an echo of despair in her voice, it isnt duty
that tugs at me so much as loyalty. I cant agree with Ian that he should come first; I owe more in
the way of love and understanding to my parents than I do to him. Has he told you that my father
could fix him up with a good post here in Limbusi?
No. An indoor job?
Theres a company being formed to open a departmental storesomething really big and
modern. Ian could go in as a partner.
Involuntarily, Morny said, That wouldnt suit him a scrap.
Thats what Ian says, and I believe it. But the money would be good, and in time hed be able
to buy his tract of land, and plant.
Morny shook her head thoughtfully, Meanwhile hed go soft and probably lose faith in himself.
He belongs with things of the earth, Christine. In any other sphere hed be only half alive.
The other girls expression was dull and resentful. The way I see it, his problem is parallel
with mine. Im torn between him and my parents; he has to choose his job or me. I think Ive as
much right to expect capitulation as he does.
You dont mean that, said Morny. You couldnt bear to have him disillusioned. When you
marry you give, you dont take away.
Youre one of the forgiving sort; youd let a man trample on you and come up smiling so long
as you were the only woman in his life.
Morny laughed. Dont pick a quarrel with me. I wont have it, even if it does give vent to your
unhappiness. I came here with Ian because he was under the impression that another womans
slant on your troubles might help. Im not sure he was right.

Im sorry, said Christine sincerely. It was sweet of you to come, and I do thank you for it.
Youre stronger than I amI can tell thatand probably youd love differently, more intensely,
so that for you thered be no alternative.
Morny preferred to omit her own emotions from the argument. Leaning forward on her elbow,
she took a long speculative look at Christines downcast face. It was a pretty face with a shapely
mouth that showed a trace of wilfulness.
Do you think its fair to Ian to wait passively for something to happen? Have you ever begged
your father to arrange a loan so that Ian might start up on his own right away?
Ive thought of it, but daddy wouldnt do it. He says that once a man is launched on a career he
should start on his own feet.
That may apply to banking, but forestry needs capital; surely hed understand that? May I say
something very frank, that you wont like?
A brief pause. Yes.
Here goes then. Youre a coward, Christine. Oh, I know you ride and shoot, that you wouldnt
be scared of living at the back o beyondbut youre afraid to face a battle with your parents,
afraid to let them see that Ians so important in your life that youd actually risk their displeasure
for his sake. If you had a spark of real courage youd have made them realize by now that no other
man will do. Instead youve swallowed your fathers opinions whole, and made Ian thoroughly
miserable in the process. You dont deserve to be loved as Ian loves you.
Christine had not moved. She sat staring at the flagged path, and in a moment or two she sighed.
Youre right, of course. Ive always been devoted to mother and thought dad perfect.
Morny pressed home her slim advantage. Separation might be good for all three of you. If you
wrote to them often and gaily theyd eventually be convinced that everything was turning out
splendidly. Theyd be so relieved and pleased that theyd let you have your own way. With her
head still bent, Christine nodded dispiritedly. Morny turned and watched a garden-boy hunched
over a flower bed; he was crooning almost inaudibly as he forked the reddish soil. She felt rather
empty and subdued, and the sun was beginning to beat down with an electrical ferocity. She
pushed up from the step.
Im afraid theres nothing more I can say to you. Go and find Ian. Ill sit in the car.
It was nearly an hour later that Ian came out of the green gate, slipped into his seat and started

the car. He was pale and unsmiling, and they were well on the way to the centre of the town
before he spoke.
You did your best, Morny, and thanks a lot. We ll have some lunch at the hotel and drive the
long way home. Ill show you some rock paintings.
You dont have to, Ian. We can go straight home to Singana now.
He gave her a tight smile. Dont waste your pity on me; Ive been through all this before. In
fact, Im developing a technique to deal with it. We re out for the day and well make what we
can of it.
Christine was not mentioned again. They had salad and iced drinks at the hotel, sauntered
around the streets and drove out to a barren hillock bearing smooth, hollowed granite outcrops on
which, in some bygone age, natives had carved and painted the shapes of animals and birds. They
found a river choked with wild hyacinth and banked by rubber weed, saw a herd of small buck
static upon a plain. Ian knew the name of every growing plant and shrub; he even knew the
medicinal uses of many of them.
When at length he brought the two-seater to the more familiar Singana road, Morny was tired
but happier than she felt she had the right to be. The thought that she had failed Ian and Christine
did depress her a little, but uppermost was the knowledge that in the dark hours of tomorrow
morning, while most people slept, she would start out on an adventure, with Grant.

CHAPTER TEN
THE alarm clock purred promptly; it only purred because it was of an ancient type and Morny had
pressed cotton wool into the bell so that Uncle Luke should not be disturbed. She sat up and
blinked, knew a sensation of bliss as realization dawned, and got out of bed. She crept into the
bathroom, came back and dressed in a tweed skirt, a white shirt and a gay woollen slipover. She
put on her thickest and most sensible shoes and laced them neatly.
It seemed odd to be dabbing on powder before the first pencil-ray of dawn, but she did it
meticulously, knowing that no light is so merciless as the pearly radiance which bathes the early
morning. Perhaps Grant would let her climb all the way with them. She hoped so.
She tucked a handkerchief into her pocket, took a last glance at her reflection and snapped off
the light. In the hall she coaxed back the bolt and carefully opened the door. There was no breeze,
so the door could be left unfastened and the click which might rouse Uncle Luke could be
avoided.
She saw the beam of the cars headlights, drew a deep and joyous breath of the fresh,
penetrating air, and flitted down the path and out of the gate.
Grant straightened from a lounging position, threw away his cigarette and pulled wide the car
door.
Youre on time, he said.
He came round and got in beside her, gave her a rug and poured some coffee into a cup. Its
milkless but its hot.
She sipped. It also tastes of whisky.
Theres not enough in it to make you miss your step. Is it sweet enough?
Plenty, thanks.
Could you eat a sandwich?
Not just now.

She nestled in the rug with the cup held between both hands and looked at him. This is grand
and isnt it quiet! I dont believe Ive ever been up at this time before. Its like another world.
Same people in it, he observed laconically. Dont take too long over the coffee. We have to
get on and meet the others.
His tone was vaguely chilling. Morny gave him her empty cup, chided herself for an idiot. What
did she expect from a man at four in the morning?
Bernice is driving with the Frosts, he said as they moved off. The rest are using the jeep
belonging to the club. Both cars will be on the road outside the clubhouse, and from there we
drive about seven miles.
The sky was black and full of stars which shed a pale glow over the town. In the main street a
milk lorry from the junction had halted and was disgorging clanking crates on to the pavement.
The boys were already on the spot with their white box-tricycles, loading up and chattering like
magpies. The car turned to the right and soon slowed down to pass the jeep and the Frosts
saloon.
All set? called Grant to the others.
Were following! someone sang out.
The cream car put on speed. Morny pushed the rug down to her knees, folded her arms and
surveyed the long dim road ahead.
Are all you mountaineers wearing spikes? she enquired conversationally.
Only a couple of the men and Bernice have them. Most of us get along with crepe rubber.
Growth changes as you go higher, doesnt it? Are there any mountain flowers?
A few balsams, but nothing unusual. There are no plants up highits craggy.
After a moment she turned her head his way. Are you one of those people who always snap in
the morning?
Am I snapping? he said carelessly. I beg your pardon. Maybe youre extra chirpy. Didnt
you go during last night?

Of course not. I went to bed at nine.

To be fresh for this morning? You do everything wholeheartedly, don t you? What did you
think of Limbusi?
In one second the whole of Mornys nervous system seemed to contract, and her jaw became so
stiff that she could only echo, Limbusi?
Limbusi, he repeated, clipping the syllables. The little mining town fifty miles down the
road. Dont tell me I was seeing ghosts yesterday.
Foolishly, Morny stammered, I didnt think for a moment that ... that anyone we knew would
see us. Theres nothing wrong in taking a trip of that sort, but we didnt want Mrs. Bartlett to find
out.
She wont hear of it from me, he said coolly. Why shouldnt you two go off alone? Boys and
girls have been doing that since before history.
You dont have to be so contemptuous. There was nothing horrid in our motive.
My dear child he said in that infuriating, aloof voice of his, you never did a thing in your
life from horrid motives. Im quite sure of that. As women go youre startlingly honest, and Id
back your integrity, too. If I havent so much respect for your judgment of the human species you
cant blame me. After all, you havent so very many years behind you.
I suppose thats a dig at Ian Templeton!
Dear me, no. How quickly you rise to his defence. Templetons a good forestry man
according to his chief hed be one of the best if he had more initiative. He paused and added
offhandedly, Not going to marry him before he leaves Singana, are you?
No, Im not, she said shortly.
Disappointing for you, but wise, he commented comfortingly, Hes not man enough to make
you a satisfactory husband. I think youll come to that conclusion yourself once hes out of the
way.
Oh, for heavens sake! she burst out.
He made a sound of sarcastic disapproval and went on driving. His expression was coldly

satirical and she guessed that his eyes were very green, as they were when he was angry; though
why he should be angry was beyond her comprehension.
The morning was tarnished. Beauty and expectancy had gone out of it, and all because Grant
had seen her in Limbusi with Ian yesterday. What construction he had put on their visit she could
not fathom, but it was obviously an unflattering one. For a moment she was tempted to blurt out
the truth, but the next second she knew that frankness with Grant would be bound to harm Ian.
Grant would never understand the mentality of a man who had to take along a woman friend to
help him convince another woman that she ought to marry him. Grant was so eminently capable of
handling any type of person that Ians uncertainty and unhappiness would appear to him as the just
deserts of a despicably weak man. Let him stew, hed say, and climb out of it as best he can. If
he cant manage the woman now, he never will.
She had more or less promised Ian that she would forget yesterdays episode; it would be
kinder to him to do so. There was not much chance of Grants forgetting what he had seen of it,
though. There were times when she loathed this dark, indifferent man at her side, when she longed
to hurt him just as much as he hurt her.
He made some references to the country through which they were passing, and though she could
see nothing but black outlines she looked out at them with studious interest and nodded to show
that she was listening.
The road ended abruptly, the car bumped on for about a hundred yards and then Grant switched
off. To Morny the sudden stillness was like a warning; it had the drama and suspense of the
quietude which precedes a cyclone, and the unreality was only partly shattered when Grant said,
Will you have some more coffee or wait for an hour till we rest?
Ill wait, thank you, she answered politely, and stepped out on to the grass.
The other two vehicles jolted up, and she found herself greeting Dr. and Mrs. Frost and saying
Good morning to Bernice; Bernice in riding breeches and a khaki silk shirt, her hair ash-blonde
in the car beams, and the inevitable cigarette dangling carelessly from her fingers.
It took a little while to lock the cars and get the two hurricane lamps alight, but as soon as Mr.
Reid and one of the other men had moved ahead with the lanterns the rest were ready to follow.
As the group straggled forward, Bernice and Grant were just in front of the Frosts and Morny.
Bernices arm was negligently linked with his, and she walked with a swinging stride which fitted
his very well; but probably he had shortened his pace to accommodate her.

Between Grants remarks Bernices voice and laughter were audible. The hoarseness of her
tones, that breaking quality which is attractive because it is rare, slurred what she said, and Grant
seemed to be purposely speaking low. There was no guessing at their conversation, but Mornys
general impression was of a completely balanced couple who were accustomed to being together.
She had not seen them like this before, so ... so heartbreakingly close and companionable.
Mrs. Frost was apprehensively making it plain that this was not really her idea of how to greet
the dawn on a Sunday morning. She had joined the party at her husbands request; he was for ever
telling her that she should have more exercise in the cool hours, so she had reluctantly agreed to
accompany him part of the way. But she had no intention of exhausting herself, and she had no
head for heights, anyway.
The ground rose steeply, the lanterns swung overhead now, and the climb began. Grant left
Bernice with Reid, dropped back to Mornys side and took a grip of her elbow.
I can manage, she said. Theres no need for you to bother with me.
I promised Luke youd arrive back in one piece, he replied. Bernice has had more practice
in looking after herself.
After that Morny saved her breath for exertion. She tried hard not to pant and chose her
footholds with care. There was nothing dangerous in this part of the ascentat most she could
only have twisted her ankle on a rock or slipped on a tuft of wiry grassbut she was determined
not even to stagger. Presently he made her rest, and, turning about, she saw the first dove-grey and
pink streaks of dawn.
The colors are tender. Is the sun rising over Singana? she asked softly.
He nodded. This is one of the Chungwa peaks that you see against the sunset.
Are we very high?
About a thousand feet.
May I go right to the top with you?
No, uncompromisingly.
It seems a pity to miss it, now Im here. I wouldnt be any trouble, she pleaded.

Yes, you would.

But there are nine men.
Dont start an argument. Youre not going, he said with unpleasant sharpness. Ready to
move on?
She made no further attempts to persuade him, and ten minutes later they joined the others upon
a wide ledge of grass. A couple of mugs were spread, and satchels of food and coffee flasks were
opened. Everyone sat facing the increasing daylight, and each in his own fashion marvelled at the
milky mist over the surrounding hills, the mauve shroud in the valleys. The silver curve of the lake
was tiny and incredibly distant; it looked like the blade of a burnished sickle thrown down while
the gardener slept.
Delicate scarves of flamingo-pink lay across a pale blue sky, and within minutes they
disintegrated into ripples of pink fleece and then into nothingness, while the heavens deepened
rapidly into the usual African blue.
Morny glanced about her at her companions. Several looked as if they had just awakened.
About a dozen feet away Bernice was smiling at Grant and murmuring on a sigh, Well! Good
morning. Grant answered her teasingly, Hello. So its you! as if this was an unexpected but
exhilarating meeting with the one woman in the world.
Morny tucked her sandwich into a crevice, patted down the grass to cover it and rested back
against the slope of the mountain. She felt rather sick and hollow, and just a bit scared of the tide
of emotion which had swept over her as those two smiled at each other. Her heart beat unevenly
into the rock at her back, but seemed also connected with the raw lump in her throat. In fact her
whole being was at the mercy of the pulsing mechanism in her body. She thought, Im not in love
with him. I wont be! But the thought had no substance, no reassurance.
Someone said, Try a cookie, Morny, and she managed a polite refusal.
She half-turned from them and stared over the green wooded cleft between this mountain and
the next. The sensation of suffocation was subsiding, and by an effort of will her nerves also were
coming under control. She was crazy. She liked Grant; of course she did. His coolness this
morning hurt because it was based on a misunderstanding that she could not clarify, and because
she had been unprepared. She might even be a little jealous of Bernice; pardonably jealous, for
Bernice Ashley already had most things and presumably she was setting herself out to ensnare
Grant.

Morny knew that Bernice had an allowance from a fond and proud father, but she was equally
certain that the woman wanted much more money than she possessed at the moment. She had
talked of a new speedboat design which she would carry out if she ever acquired the cash, and
had disparagingly compared her own small sports car with Grants limousine. As Grants wife
she would not only be wealthy enough to indulge her expensive sportswomans tastes, but she
would live in the most opulent house in Singana above the lake which she had described as a
perfect stretch of water. And possibly even Bernice, who was passably well known herself,
would not object to the added distinction of being the most envied and prominent member of
Singana societyMrs. Grant Randall.
Well, why not? It would doubtless suit Grant to have a dashing, self-assured wife. Morny
recalled having reflected weeks ago that he had not much use for the ordinary, dependent type of
woman, that he would never be caught in the feminine trap. Bernice was not particularly feminine,
but she could communicate with him on a different plane from that attained by most women and
yet retain enough womanliness to satisfy his needs. He had called her an unusual woman, meaning
no doubt, that very combination in her of toughness and allure.
A hand shook her shoulder, and she started rather violently.
Thats not the best place to go to sleepyou might dream and slip over the edge. And dont
jump as if you were seeing ghosts.
She gave him a quick, automatic smile. Youre not particularly ghostly. Are you and the others
off now?
Grants regard was keen. We are, and I think its as well we decided to leave you here with
Mrs. Frost. Youre pale, he touched her hand, and cold as well. Roll up over there in a rug. The
sun will soon be high enough to warm you. Maybe then youll feel more like eating. Theres still
plenty of food.
How did he know she hadnt eaten? Had he watched her over Bernices shoulder? She was too
miserable to care.
Bernice stood above her and observed dispassionately, So youre not coming to the top with
us. Perhaps youre wise. The English diet isnt conducive to stamina, is it? Ive never seen you in
a boat.
Come to that, responded Morny without much spirit, Ive never seen you at the tennis club.
I play on Grants court, said Bernice negligently, and if youre interested, Im not bad. Am I,

Grant?
Youre good, he said, but I doubt if you could trim up a house as Morny has her uncles. It
takes all sorts. He shrugged. We ll leave you now, Morny. Look after yourself. Bernice, youd
better go straight behind Dr. Frost and Ill be at your back. And before you trust all your weight to
one foot get those spikes dug in. Be sure of that at each step. Theres no hurry.
Dont worry, my sweet, she said. Im as surefooted as a Barbary sheep.
She probably was, thought Morny despondently as Grant at last vanished round the ledge upon
which she was left with the middle-aged Mrs. Frost. There seemed to be no limit to Bernices
physical accomplishments.
The doctors wife, a small person in a tweed suit, had been busy with binoculars, but now she
sat back and closed her eyes. Wouldnt it be awful, she said, if this ledge fell off the
mountainside!
I suppose so, though we wouldnt know much about it. What a thing to think of.
We must be about fifteen hundred feet up. Doesnt it give you a queer feeling to know that?
No, I dont mind.
The sounds made by Bernice and the men had already ceased. Morny would have liked to
watch them climb, anything rather than remain motionless, Wondering. They would be gone some
time; two hours had been mentioned. All at once it seemed to Morny that two hours of this
position with the switchback of hills in front and the rocky face of the mountain at her back were
more than she would be able to bear. She stood up.
Dont! do that, begged Mrs. Frost faintly. I didnt feel too bad while all the men were here
and we were chatting, but now that were alone Ive a horrible fear that one of us is going to
hurtle down there.
Morny knelt beside her in some alarm. Are you dizzy? Shall I pour you some coffee?
Its a slight head pain and nausea. Heights do that to me. My husband has some tablets in his
pocket that would put me right in a jiffy, but I forgot to get them from him.
They wont have got very far. Ill shout to him. Stay flat with your eyes closed.

Do be careful, my dear.
Morny straightway manoeuvered herself round a crag, ran along the ledge and pulled herself up
from rock to rock. Where an outcrop afforded an easy resting-place she stopped and looked up at
the towering summit. There they were all, of them, spread out and appearing oddly, small and
inhuman as they scrambled from one point to another and gesticulated friendly advice. Up they
went, towards the serrated peak. She shouted, but her voice was puny in that expanse of space.
She would have to climb higher. It wasnt so difficult; with spikes on her shoes she would have
had no qualms at all.
Morny had just stopped for the second time when the clackety-clack of loose rocks echoed
about her. Someone up there had dislodged them. They came down to the right of her, bouncing
joyfully upon the side of the mountain and down into the void. She raised her head, saw a stone
about the size of a mans fist jump at a tangent from a rock and felt the dull impact as it met the
bone just above her temple.
Half-stunned, she stood gripping at a clump of plants with one hand while the other covered an
area of increasing pain. That was a bit of bad luck. It was no use; her voice would never reach
them now. Poor Mrs. Frost would have to suffer till they got back.
Slowly, she let herself down step by step to the ledge. With a handkerchief she wiped clean the
graze at her temple; then she pulled forward a lock of hair to disguise it and made her way along
to where Mrs. Frost still lay.
Im so sorry, she said. I did give them a shout, but theyd gone too far to hear me. The sound
didnt carry too well.
It doesnt matter. If I dont move it isnt unbearable. Thanks very much for your effort.
Morny wrung out a table napkin in water from one of the bottles and laid it across Mrs. Frosts
forehead, after which she sat down and leaned her own throbbing head in her hand.
A silent hour dragged by. Here there were few insects and no birds; only the dry rustle of grass
disturbed the atmosphere. A thin line of high white clouds lay unmoving against the blue, and the
sun was growing hot and brassy as it rose in the sky.
Mrs. Frost yawned. Ive been making up for the short night in bed. We were late last night
after the dinner at Grant Randalls. He and Bernice can stand the pace, and my husband is used to
sleeping whenever he can, but I definitely need my seven hours, and last night I had less than
three. I shall have to have a good rest after lunch. She glanced up idly at Mornys profile.

Yesterday was Bernices birthday. Shes twenty-seven.

Is she? At the moment everything seemed trivial to Morny.
She looks about that, doesnt she? I wonder if she and Grant will marry?
I wonder, said Morny.
Mrs. Frost went oh musingly, I dont believe anyone connected them till last night, because
Grant was bound to do what he could for her, but a man has to be fairly fond of a woman to give
her a birthday party, and I cant imagine him permitting her to wear his mothers jewellery unless
shes ultimately to have it.
The knocking in Mornys head had the persistence and monotony of a tomtom. His mothers ...
jewellery?
It was a beautiful diamond wristlet. Ive seen it beforewhen Grant was showing us some
pieces hed collectedso I recognized it at once. He may have given it to her for her birthday. I
didnt like to show any curiosity. She hesitated. I dont care for Berniceshe strikes me as a
woman without depth, and as rather mercenarybut I would like to see Grant married. Hed
make a charming and exciting husband.
Morny could offer no response. To herself she was repeating, Im not in love with him. Im
not. Im not! As if repetition could make it so. But her mind filled with the picture of Bernice, the
china-blue eyes wide and exultant as her strong fingers played with the diamond bracelet on her
slender brown wrist. Bernice, flaunting jewels which had belonged to Grants mother.
Then Mrs. Frost sat up and raised a hand. Here they come, she said, sooner than expected.
Thank heaven.

CHAPTER ELEVEN
UNCLE LUKE was puzzled and somewhat uneasy. Much though he loved Morny, he felt that this time
she had carried her antipathy for Grant a little too far. After all, she had accepted the invitation to
go mountain climbing with eagerness, and her enjoyment of the jaunt had depended as much upon
herself as upon others.
This morning he had breakfasted in bed. Morny had arranged it last night with Thomas, and
though he, Luke, was rather opposed to the dubious luxury of managing ripe papaw and scrambled
eggs on a tray balanced across his knees, he had agreed to it because she had wanted him to have
it that way. He had heard her get up and go out, had chuckled at the way she had crept about and
stealthily made her exit.
After breakfast he had lazily shaved and dressed and taken a luxurious walk between his flower
borders. In Yorkshire he had always spent an hour or two after Sunday breakfast with the weekend newspapers, but here one had to get by without them. He mostly passed the time with the
previous Fridays Bulawayo Chronicle, and this morning was no exception; he read it right
through.
At a quarter to eleven he looked at his watch. He liked to think of Morny having fun with a
crowd, but considering the hour at which she had risen this morning he felt it was time she
showed up and got some rest. He folded his newspaper and was about to stroll out to the front
gate when the well-known creak advised him that it had been pushed wide. So he stayed where he
was, a smile already forming on his lips and his eyes expectantly upon the archway to the hall
where Morny would appear. The front door was, as usual, standing open.
But Morny did not come in at once. She had halted in the porch with Grant. Uncle Luke had
sensed it was Grant before he spoke.
Take three aspirins and get some sleep. Ill have a word with your uncle.
Id rather you didnt. Mornys voice was brittle; it rather frightened Uncle Luke. I can
explain perfectly well myself.
You go to bed. Ill save you the trouble.
Uncle Luke did not care for Grants tones, either; his words were like chips of ice. What was
the matter with the two of them?

You wont, said Morny. Ive had enough of being pushed around this morning, and now that
Im home I wont put up with any more of it. Please go, Grant.
Ill do nothing of the sort. I took responsibility for you, and I mean to see Luke; hell expect it
of me, anyway. I dont know whats got into you, but I think it would be better for everyone if you
slept it off. Get going, theres a good girl.
Grant; this isnt your business...
Im making it my business, so its useless to fuss. Pretty soon well have another picnic to help
us forget the bad taste of this one.
Morny said bitterly, Dont invite me to go half-way on the big game hunt, will you? I couldnt
bear that.
If you stay here any longer, Grant bit out, well both say things well be sorry for. Go to bed,
or Ill carry you there!
Uncle Luke had not budged. Disturbed and astonished, he stared unseeing at the bookcase and
tried to will himself into motion. He ought to have breezed out in the beginning; now it was too
late. He saw Morny cross the hall without looking into the lounge and pass through to the corridor.
Then he heard Grant in the hall flicking his lighter, smelled cigarette smoke. This was like a scene
one might write about with supreme confidence, because one would never visualize it happening
to oneself. It was always easier to predict how another person would act in a given situation.
Ones own actions were governed by all sorts of repressions. Presumably Grant would presently
summon the house-boy and demand to see his master, and it would look too silly if Luke popped
up from a couple of yards away.
Grant himself resolved that part of Uncle Lukes dilemma. He came to the archway, briefly
glanced at the newspaper which had slipped to the floor, then at Uncle Lukes somewhat
deprecating expression; after which he leaned there, smoking.
Ive just brought Morny back, he said.
Apparently, as far as Grant was concerned, Luke Penrose had been asleep or deaf for the last
ten minutes. The older man was relieved; this was more than he had dared hope for.
Good climb? he asked.
The climb was all right, but Morny got hurt while we were gone. Its nothing seriousa bump

and a graze at the side of her foreheadbut I think it must have scared her. She seems keyed up.
Shell be better after a sleep, poor child. You got back late.
No, we were on time, but I took her to my place, much against her will, and put a dressing
over the sore spot. I made her have a drink, too.
Thanks; Im glad you did. Dont blame yourself, Grant. Shes impulsive.
Shes also a pighead, said Grant. If I hadnt noticed she was suddenly allowing her hair to
flop all one side and suspected an injury, I wouldnt know about it yet.
She probably meant to keep it to herself. A mishap might have spoiled the jaunt for the others,
and Morny wouldnt have wanted that.
We were alone in the car. She could have told me.
I fancy, stated Uncle Luke with the merest twinkle, that Morny would rather confide in
anyone than you. You have that effect on her, Grant. I cant make out why it is, but you and she
seem to be natural enemies.
Shakes up those earlier notions of yours, doesnt it? Grant commented sarcastically. From
my experience your sweet and gentle niece is about as tractable as a mule.
Give her time, said Uncle Luke, and dont postpone the opening of the school any more. A
young woman needs plenty to occupy her; a small house and a foolish uncle are not enough.
Grant shrugged and came into the lounge to stub out his cigarette. Ill get back, he said. So
long.
After Grant had gone Uncle Luke relaxed into his chair. He wasnt really a bit anxious for the
school to start, because he was sure that as soon as it did Morny would have a worrying time. Nor
was it truly his opinion that housekeeping and the social round provided too few interests for a
young woman. He was of a generation which liked girls to be decorative and housewifely, and he
had always secretly hoped that Morny would marry before she had a chance to work for her
living.
In a bewildering way she had changed, and he would be willing to wager that the alteration had
taken place since her arrival in Rhodesia. The girl he had driven up from the Cape had not been
so different from the one he had left in London three years before, but the Morny who had

exchanged acid remarks with Grant in the porch was maturer; if he had not known better he would
have said she was almost embittered. His Morny ... embittered!
What was happening to her that she could behave so with a man like Grant? Uncle Luke shook
his head. He could not answer that, but he did feel that the less those two saw of each other the
better. They would never be able to get along together.
Uncle and niece met at lunch. Except that she was a little pale there was nothing remarkable
about Morny. He could see that the adhesive dressing which Grant had fixed above her temple had
been whittled down with nail scissors, and she dismissed it with a shrug. It was Grant who had
made a major affair of it, not she.
Wisely shelving his uneasiness and puzzlement., Uncle Luke abandoned the topic for less
perilous conjecture about Mr. Malonys bad leg and the possibility that the old man might drive
over this afternoon.
Soon, the weather took on its seasonal change. Banks of grubby white clouds obscured the sun
and created humidity, the heat of the streets was oppressive, and Uncle Luke tended the seedlings
in his flower beds and hopefully looked upward for rain. Everyone talked of rain as if it were an
exciting phenomenon, but there were no genuine signs of it yet. The clouds must darken in hue, and
come closer to the earth, and thundery tendencies would have to develop: even then the storms
might break over the mountains and leave Singana still thirsting. It had occurred before and might
again; but everyone yearned for rain ... glorious, elusive rain.
One day Uncle Luke had Clement and his wife to dinner. Morny would always remember that
evening because of the afternoon which had preceded it. She had arranged with Joe a simple, tasty
meal for four at seven-thirty, and was on the veranda catching up on the mending when Mrs.
Bartlett came marching along the path. In belted grey linen and a much-cleaned grey straw hat
with no relief of any kind, the woman was tall and spectral. Her excellent features were tightly
controlled, but when she reached the veranda and was confronting Morny the composure slipped,
and her teeth, small and white, showed in a completely vicious smile.
Good afternoon, Morny said apprehensively. Please sit down, Mrs. Bartlett. Will you have
tea?
This is not a social call! Mrs. Bartlett spoke with a metallic ring and firmly remained upon
her long, slim feet. I want you to understand that only a very serious matter would bring me to
your house, Miss Blake. Is it likely that we shall be interrupted?
I dont think so. Morny was calling upon her reserves to meet a menace of which she was
already half aware. Please go ahead.

Dont stand there looking as if you couldnt connive at anything underhand. You know very
well why Im here!
Perhaps, but since youve sought me out its up to you to put it into words.
Mrs. Bartletts eyes went narrow and diamond bright. So youre taking that attitude, are you!
She stopped to draw a sharp breath. You fooled me nicely the day you came to see me. Such a
modest young woman who wanted nothing so much as to be a good schoolteacher and co-operate
in every way. You posed so skilfully that I believed you refreshingly innocent and reserved, and
encouraged my brother to be friendly with you.
Morny was trying hard to keep in mind that this was Mrs. Bartlett, the principal under whom
she was to work. She strove to keep her tones low and even.
You and I made no bargains about your brother, and I ve never done anything that could hurt
you in any way. Ians entitled to live his life as he chooses, and if I...
You had no right to go with him to Limbusi to see the Levitt girl. Ian is too honest to have taken
you there without first making it quite clear that Im against his having any further connection with
her, and that alone should have deterred you from interfering. Dont try to plead ignorance!
From nervousness and exasperation, Morny was fast being precipitated into anger. How dare
the woman behave as though others hadnt even the power of free speech! At last Mrs. Bartlett
had allowed herself to be roused from that cold-fish placidity, but she neednt think that Morny
was a school girl to be cowed by authority.
Did you learn of my visit to Limbusi from Ian? she asked.
Mrs. Bartlett made a gesture of contempt. Of course nothe wouldnt give you away. It was in
a letter from the girl herself, and there was no mistaking what had happened.
A letter from Christine? Did she write to you?
She wrote to my brother, and I found the letter in one of his pockets. And dont stare at me like
that! In my own house I do as I wish. The thin nostrils dilated. I was never so furious in my life
as when I read that you ... you ... had been trying to persuade Christine Levitt to marry Ian.
Theyre in love, said Morny hardily. Why should they not marry?
In love, echoed Mrs. Bartlett scornfully. What can you know about such things? Do you

believe everything the girl told you? Shes selfish and pampered, not in the least fit to be the wife
of a forestry worker, nor of anyone else who has to earn a living the hard way. But Im not here to
discuss the matter. I came to tell you how disgusted I am that you should have intervened in
something which does not concern you, and to warn you that if you ever take action behind my
back at the school I shall report you to the council.
Mornys hands were clenched, her voice unsteady. Dont confuse your brothers private life
with the school, Mrs. Bartlett. They havent a thing in common. Ians a man with a career that he
chose for himself, and hes chosen the woman he wants to marry, too; I had no part in that. Your
influence over him ceased a good many years ago, but youve deliberately remained obtuse to the
fact. Hes tried to avoid distressing you, but circumstances have taken a hand. If you really cared
for him youd help him to get Christine, not continually harp upon her unsuitability.
Rubbish! Mrs. Bartlett shot out the word as if it were an expletive. Her mouth was a hard,
pale pink line. Youve shown yourself precocious and meddlesomeand if you believe that
Christine Levitt has more feeling for Ian than she has for herself, youre no judge of character.
That girl will never be prised away from her parents; shell never face the solid facts of marriage,
and shes idle and luxury-loving into the bargain.
By now Morny had forgotten everything but that this hateful woman was despising both her
brother and Christine because they were human. She was a beastly creature. Theyll marry, she
said, and theyll be happy in spite of you. Next time you snoop into Ians pockets youll probably
find evidence of it.
Vera Bartletts utter stillness, her audible breathing, were proof to Morny that she had gone too
far. But why shouldnt she say what she thought? Why should this woman be permitted to get away
with her insulting adjectives? Meddlesome, precocious, underhand when she admitted
brazenly to reading her brothers correspondence during his absence from the house! She didnt
love Ian; there wasnt an ounce of love in the womans composition. She only craved
possessively to have her own way with him.
On a note which was pitched a shade higher than normal, Mrs. Bartlett said, Ill make you
sorry for that final piece of impertinence, Miss Blake! Then she went from the veranda and
stalked down the path and out of sight.
Morny dropped limply into a chair. She could never work with Mrs. Bartlett after this. She
visualized herself packing her things, saying goodbye to Uncle Luke and travelling south to find a
job. But she was too angry for the phase of despair to last long. To run away from that woman
would be cowardly; her sort was best confounded by tenacity and discreet defiance. Morny would
refuse to be intimidated.

Nevertheless, as her fury abated she felt depleted. She pushed her uncles socks into the workbasket and stowed it away before going to the kitchen to give Joe a hand with the dinner.
During the whole of that evening, while jesting with the homespun Clement or gossiping with
his wife, Morny found her thoughts wandering back to Mrs. Bartlett. Like Grant, the woman had
accused her of being no judge of human nature. Possibly they were right, but she would still bank
upon Christines being the woman for Ian Templeton.
Between Christines parents and Ians sister they had had too much to contend with. Being in
love and working out their future would have been enough, but they were like a couple on
opposing sides caught up in a grim tug-of-war. Morny wished there were something she could do.
She wished it even more when Ian came to Uncle Lukes house that weekend.
I cant stay, Im afraid, he said regretfully. The unit is moving out tomorrow, and Ive still
some things to clear up.
How far are you going?
The new camp is about two hundred miles from here. I wont write to you, Morny, because Ive
preyed upon you too much already, but heres my new address. If you should be in the mood to
pen a word of cheer some time Id be awfully grateful.
Morny looked at the set young face which still showed traces of shy charm. What about
Christine?
Im not sure. She writes that shes wretched about my going so far away, but she knows that
she has only to whistle and Ill be back and willing to face her father.
And if shes doesnt whistle?
Ian shrugged and lowered his lids. A man can only stand so much. If it becomes unbearable I
shall have to fall in with Mr. Levitts plan and put in a few years at the department store. He took
her hand and squeezed it. Dont bother about us, Morny. Id sooner give up the trees than give up
Christine. I hope youll be happy in your work when the school gets going. Vera s pedantic, but
she can be nice to people she likes. Im glad she took to you.
So his sister had told him nothing about the calamitous interview the other day. Nor, it seemed,
did he suspect that his letters from Christine had been seen by other eyes. Perhaps growing up
with Vera had blinded him to the more petty of her faults.

Morny wished him goodbye and waved to him as he drove off. His departure left a little
emptiness. She had grown to rely upon his companionship, which had been so effortless and
undemanding. She had met others at the club, but the women were married and none of the
bachelors offered the uncomplicated friendship which she had enjoyed with Ian. Unlike his, their
hearts were free and clamouring, and like him, they were not too enamoured of bachelorhood.

CHAPTER TWELVE
AWARE that she was more often alone these days, Uncle Luke let Morny drive him to the office and
keep the car for her own amusement. She would make a round of the shops or go down to the lake
for a bathe, and pick him up at lunch time.
Occasionally she saw Bernice practising in one of her boats or idling in Grants graceful white
yacht. Once, when Morny was swimming, the yacht came near and Bernice leaned over the side.
I thought it was you, she called. Im giving a party on Friday. Like to come?
Not too certain she had heard correctly, Morny trod water and lifted the ear-flap of her cap.
Did you say a party?
Yes, on Friday. My people are coming up from Bulawayo for a couple of days and, they love
a binge. Trouble is, I cant get hold of enough girls.
Well, you wont get me, thought Morny, but aloud she answered, Ill let you know.
Itll be a good party, Bernice added. Im not such a dud at entertaining, and Grants
handling the drinks and catering.
Morny looked up at the tanned face and shallow blue eyes, she saw the slim-fitting slacks, the
mannish white shirt beneath a shapely waistcoat, and something flickered and hardened within
her.
Are you going to marry Grant? she asked.
Bernice smiled and flipped her fingers. Why is everyone so curious? We ll announce it when
were ready.
Morny said Goodbye, and struck out for the bank. She dressed quickly in the car and drove
along the red dusty road to the town. The slightly sick sensation which invariably took possession
whenever she contemplated the marriage of Bernice and Grant was clogging her throat, and now
she had the added knowledge that members of Bernices family were coming up to meet him.
Uncle Luke had always averred that troubles slipped into perspective and lost half their
importance if one face them squarely and aired them; it was useless to batten them down, he said,
because, like weeds in a moist land, they had a habit of growing apace when you took your eyes

off them.
It was also one of her uncles maxims that to oneself one must never deny the truth. The truth
being, in this case, that she was in love with Grant Randall. She couldnt keep repeating, I wont
be, I wont be! when the very thought of him brought anguish, and the sight of him, nodding
imperiously from his car as he passed the house, twisted and squeezed her heart. And being in
love with Grant could hardly be placed in Uncle Lukes category of troubles. It was an
unalloyed catastrophe, nothing less. Morny just could not see how she was to meet it.
Instead of turning into the main street, she crossed it and pulled up at a corner opposite the new
school. It was a long, one-storey structure in white stucco, with arcades all round it to ensure
cool classrooms. Set in the middle of vast playing fields, it was attractively colonial. The bell
hung in a separate white stone building, like those in Dutch church grounds, and around it flowers
already grew inside a low ornamental fence. The paths were laid, tennis courts and swimming
bath completed, and even net-ball posts had been sunk in cement, though as yet they were without
nets.
Morny walked into the cloistered coolness of the arcade and peered through one of the
windows. Well -spaced desks; two roomy cupboards, fine slate blackboards in limba wood
frames on the wall. Perhaps this would be her room; she would sit behind the desk or stand
beside it, elucidating fractions, trying to implant a knowledge of history and geography into young
brains. With luck, Mrs. Bartlett would allow her to use her own methods in teaching art. But luck
and Mrs. Bartlett were hardly compatible...
I bet youll be more shaky than the youngsters on your first day, said Grant at her back.
Morny remained as she was for a few seconds, temporarily witless. Then she turned from the
window. I expect I shall. Are you here on business?
On pleasure, he corrected her, with edged mockery. "I recognized Luke s car in passing, and
guessed you were peeping with awe at virgin schoolrooms and dedicating yourself to the future.
Sobering, isnt it?
Children have to be taught, she replied, offhandedly. Its a fine school.
Have you been inside?
Not yet.
Want to? I can borrow the key from the council offices.

Nono, thanks, she returned swiftly. I wont antagonize Mrs. Bartlett any further.
Any further? he took her up sharply. Whats she antagonized about?
Nothing dreadful. She was on her guard again. We had a disagre ement, but it had nothing
whatever to do with the school. Id better wait to go through the classrooms with her, though.
Shed prefer it, and I dont mind.
Dont be silly. The school isnt Mrs. Bartletts.
One always sets out to please ones superiors. You wont have had experience of that, of
course, but we small fry have to tread warily. She moved forward into the sunshine. Its only a
fortnight to the school opening. It seems that Ive been in Singana for years instead of months.
Thats because so much has happened to you, he said, a cynical dent at the corner of his
mouth. Ive heard it said that once youre in love you cant recall the time when you werent.
Treacherous color flamed in her cheeks before his meaning was clear. Then she realized with
an abounding relief that Ian was again his target, and she breathed more freely, contriving a smile.
Ive heard that, too. I wonder how true it is? To avoid a further cynicism she tacked on,
Ones learning all the time.
Slowly they were nearing the pillars between which the gates would hang. A hoopoe perched
upon one of them, crest cocked, poised for flight; with a whisper of wings he was off.
Grant said, You must be lonely without Templeton. What about dining with us tonight?
Us no doubt meant that Bernice would be about. Morny shook her head. I dont have time to
be lonely. Thank you all the same.
Grant did not make the mordant remark for which she was prepared. He stood on the path
regarding her speculatively. Youre unhappy. If its over Templeton, with a trace of harshness,
I cant offer comfort, but if its something else Ill put it right for you.
You cant put it right.
Her acknowledgment that she was unhappy subtly changed the atmosphere between them. He
bent towards her, held her shoulder.

Morny, youre going home to lunch with me right now. We ll leave Lukes car outside his
office and go straight to my house. We ll have a talk, and I promise to chase away those
shadows.
Grant ... you cant help. She hurried on, You see, there isnt anythingnothing tangible, I
mean, that I could tell you about. I shall go on feeling restless till the school starts, thats all.
It isnt all, he contradicted abruptly. A moment ago you were flushed, and now youre
white. I want you to tell me whats wrong.
She averted herself from him, breathed in on a caught breath and turned it into a light laugh.
Im not a child or a disgruntled mine employee. Im entirely capable of running my own affairs,
and if I were in need of advice I wouldnt have to come to you. Uncle Luke hasnt failed me yet.
His face darkened, his brows went together in a straight line. That shows us more or less
where we stand, doesnt it? Youd rather die than accept a favor from meor something equally
melodramatic. Thats why you jumped at the chance of seeing Limbusi with Templeton, although
Id said Id take you there. I suppose Luke told you that when I found I had to go to Limbusi that
morning I called for you?
No, he didnt. It must have slipped his mind.
It doesnt matter, he said roughly. Im beginning to understand you very wellso well that I
shant repeat any of my earlier mistakes!
All right, if thats how you feel. Just slightly her chin trembled, but she kept it high. Theres
nothing more to say, is there? Ill go now.
Youre declining lunch at Minona?
To be honest, she said, her tones uneven, Im declining your company, Grant. Since you
collected me at four oclock the other Sunday morning I find I can endure you only in small
doses.
Thats hell for you, he replied crisply. But from now on you neednt endure me at all!
And that, apparently, was that. He walked across the road, held open the door of Uncle Lukes
shabby tourer while she got in, closed it decisively and gave her a cool bow. Before Morny had
time to slip into gear the cream car pulled out and disappeared.

She drove home, left the car out on the road and went indoors to her bedroom. Impossible that
everything should be just as she had left it. The whole universe had toppled, her life splintered,
yet the crystal powder bowl went on winking, the lampshade sat at its usual jaunty angle, and
even the blue scabious were as fresh as when she had picked them early this morning.
With hands locked together she stood at the window and watched one of the boys clipping the
bushes in the back garden. Had she been brave or foolish? The line dividing the two could be
exceedingly fine. Grant would never forgive her, but that might ease the situation. If it were not
practicable to avoid him altogether she would not, at any rate, have to tolerate seeing him with
Bernice.
Resolutely she sat down and wrote a note expressing regret that she would not be able to attend
Bernices party, and Samson was sent off to deliver it. After that she did what most women do in
moments of stress: looked out jobs to do and set about each as if it demanded the utmost in energy
and concentration. She picked up Uncle Luke for lunch, and when he returned to the office at
three-thirty she accompanied him and wrote up some of the news items which had come in by
telephone since noon.
At last the day ended, and Morny saw in her mirror that, except for tiredness in her eyes, she
had not altered outwardly since this morning. Agony did not last; it levelled out into an ache, and
pride was an indispensable ally. So reasoned Morny in a youthful effort to live down pain.
In a town the size of Singana it was difficult deliberately to keep out of anyones way. She
couldnt help seeing Grant now and then. There was the morning when he had driven up from the
mine and had to sidestep her with a polite greeting on the pavement near his office; and the
evening when they had met in the newspaper offices and exchanged aloof nods while Uncle Luke
looked on. Once Grant had telephoned the house and prefaced his enquiry for Uncle Luke with a
distant, How are you, Morny? As if he cared!
Bernices month had stretched into nearly six weeks. She was still popular, still good news
value. The game hunt upon which she had set her heart was having to wait till the threat of rain
lifted from the district, but she seemed never to be at a loose end during the day, and her evenings
were taken care of by the social element in the town.
It was four days before the school opened that Morny had a letter from Christine Levitt. The
first few lines were an apology for not having written before; she had been in the throes of an
inward battle. But she was very anxious for Morny to be the first to know that she had had a
showdown with her parents. Both were hurt, and she was ragged with the effort herself,
particularly as she really agreed with them that a camp in the wilds was no substitute for a settled
home. However, the first step had been taken, and her mother and father were finally convinced
that she would marry no one but Ian. She had not written the good news to him because of a

horrible sinking sensation that her marriage would be only half a marriage if they could not start
off with their own house and their own modest furniture. She did wish Morny would come to
Limbusi one day soon. It was so much more satisfactory to talk about things than to try to put them
into writing.
The letter was cheering. It was about time something decided to go right, and the knowledge
that she had had a hand in it gave a small fillip to Mornys self-esteem. It was encouraging, too,
that her assessment of Christines character had been somewhere near correct. Morny was sorry
for the girls parents, sorry that Christine and Ian had to wound them, but she was still of the
opinion that anyway for the first year or two of their marriage the two must live at some distance
from the Levitts. As for the ever-recurring theme of the settled home...
Morny halted in her thoughts. There might be a solution to that! Not that department store; no
one who knew Ian would seriously believe that he could ever make good in a position to which
he was so temperamentally opposed. But this other ... well, it was worth taking the chance.
Morny would give a great deal to see Ian and Christine married and on the best of terms with Mr.
and Mrs. Levitt.
About Ians sister, who was shortly to be her boss, Morny at that moment thought not at all. The
whole of her mind had switched to Mr. Malony and his tea plantation.
The condition of Mr. Malonys leg had improved, but he was not yet walking normally. He
used a stick, and his African servant often tramped behind him with a canvas stool and invited the
baas to take a rest whenever he paused. The servant was muscular and smiling and totally
immune to Mr. Malonys explosive threats.
Hell do anything for me. Best boy I ever had, stated Mr. Malony aside to his cronies. Id
like him even better if he could cook.
It was this boy who bowed to Morny that afternoon and requested that she please sit down
while he called his master from the nursery.
No need to bring him all the way here, said Morny. Ill go with you.
The boy looked pained but was too polite to demur. He loped ahead in his khaki shorts and
singlet, over the grass and down the lane between the house and the tea gardens. Morny did not
hurry, for the vista was wide and pleasant. Sunshine glistened over the terraced acres of tea bush,
and down there between the rows the pickers were busy, nipping off two leaves and a bud and
expertly tossing each tiny spray over the shoulder into a basket secured to the back. Most of the
pickers were half-naked, ebony-skinned boys, but women and children were among them, too.
Morny could hear the chatter and the chanted rhythm to which they worked. Their laughter was

full-throated and uninhibited.

The nursery was the large sheltered area in which Mr. Malony raised his seedlings. Morny
found him supervising the lifting of plants, but he was more than willing to retire to a bench under
the thatched awning beside the field and let the lifting take care of itself for a while. He loved
company.
If it would only rain, he growled, glowering at the tantalizing patches of cloud. Nothing I
hate more than a broken promise.
Itll come, some time. Your tea looks healthy, said Morny.
Its healthy enough. Good irrigation and the humidity is a help, but theres nothing like rain
lashings of it. He allowed his stick to slide to the ground and grinned at her. I spend too much
time ranting. Why do you bother with a curmudgeon like me?
Maybe I have designs on your tea estate.
I wish you had, he said ruefully. Lukes right, you know. Im getting too old for it, and I
need a six-months holiday. Why should I work my hide off to produce tea? Itll still be here
when Im gone for ever.
Morny hesitated. Have you thought any more about taking an assistant?
Whats the good? Tea planters arent ten a penny, and I wouldnt have any interest in training
a chap unless I knew and liked him personally. Now if you were to get married, Morny...
Weve been over that before, she said hastily.
He laughed. You dont have to jump on me. Theres no harm in hoping.
She glanced away over the acres of blowing seedlings, which were very green because the boy
hosed them every day. Mr. Malony, how well do you know Ian Templeton?
He rasped his chin thoughtfully, spoke with a knowing inflexion. So its Ian Templeton, is it? I
saw him once or twice at your place. Seemed a decent fellow. Whats his job?
Forestry. Once that word was out Morny found it less difficult to proceed. Hes one of
those serious, thorough peoplenot terribly go-ahead, but really keen on planting. Theres hardly
a detail he doesnt know about timber, and I believe hed soon become as knowledgeable about

tea if ... well...

So? Again Mr. Malony explored his chin. Youre fixing me up with a partner, is that it?
She smiled. I wouldnt dare do that. Im not even sure he wants to be a tea planter, but I do
know hes tired of chasing around with a forestry unit.
Ah, said Mr. Malony with a comprehending wink. Youre sounding me first, like the wise
girl you are. For some reason Ian Templeton would like to settle down, and you feel you could
make a tea man of him.
I feel that you could.
You do, do you? Where is this serious and thorough young man?
The unit has left Singana but I have his address. May I write and ask him to come and see
you?
You may certainly do that, my dear, and if he s the right sort we could fix it up quickly. Mr.
Malony shouted suddenly in dialect at one of the boys. Dragging the darn thing out as if it was a
weed, he grumbled. His frown cleared and he beamed at Morny. All right, get your young hero
over, and if it seems at all likely hell take to tea planting, Ill make him a proposition. I cant say
more than that.
Youre awfully kind, Mr. Malony.
Im not kind at alljust a selfish old man wanting a stake in the future, and Ill go to lengths to
get it. The house can have rooms built on, and theres plenty of space for a flower garden.
Women like flowers about them. He stopped, then queried innocently. Hell be marrying soon,
I suppose?
Thats one of his ambitions. Though this statement might be misconstrued, Morny was afraid
to say more. Mrs. Bartlett had probably never heard of Mr. Malony, but it was just possible they
had mutual acquaintances, and he could not be bound to secrecy. Cross-country letters take
time, she said, but he should be able to get here in about a week. I wont raise his hopes, but
only mention that youre needing an assistant and would give him an interview.
Sounds a bit stiff, but please yourself how you put it. Ruminatively, he went on, A young
married couple wouldnt appreciate having an old chap like me around. We might run to a small
separate bungalow for me; I wouldnt mind that. In any case, if I got someone whom I could trust

to manage the whole works Id take a long vacationmight go overseas and have a look at
London and Killarney.
No one would mind living with you, she said warmly. Youre a darling.
Am I? he murmured in surprise. I always get along with young people, but I havent had one
of them call me a darling before. I like to spoil em. But this man of yours will have to be a tea
planter, he finished warningly. Im not offering a soft billet and a legacy, or even an ordinary
partnership. Its bigger, more intimate, than that.
I know, she said simply. If you have any doubts about Ian you must turn him down. He ll
understand and so will I.
Lets leave it like that till he arrives, he answered comfortably. Will you come to the house
and treat me to a decent cup of tea, Morny? The boy either uses tepid water or boils it like
coffee.
She jumped up, retrieved his stick and lent him her shoulder. All the way up the lane he jested,
and when, about a quarter of an hour later, she brought his tea to the lounge, he was smiling into
space as if what he saw there were good.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MORNY wrote her letter to Ian the same night. As she sealed and stamped it she congratulated
herself upon being a fast worker, for Christines note had reached her only that morning. She sat
on at the writing table, musing hopefully, but with a dull undertone of envy upon Ians future. She
had no doubt that should he and Mr. Malony take to each other the continued success of the tea
estate would be assured. Settled at Singana, Christine would be far from her parents influence,
yet near enough for the two of them to spend an occasional weekend at Limbusi. The Levitts
objections to the marriage would disintegrate.
She thought of the young couple modernizing Mr. Malonys house, which would ultimately be
theirs; of Ian happily about his business in the sheds and tea gardens, and Christine riding about
with the old man. In a year or two there might be a son, and Mr. Malony would be as proud as a
grandfather.
A hand fell upon Mornys shoulder, and she looked up. Uncle Luke was regarding her in some
concern.
Not crying, Morny?
Of course not; its eyestrain. We need a stronger lamp in this corner.
He must have seen the address on the letter, but he made no comment, except, Youll feel
brighter next Monday. Therell be no holding you once you start earning a salary. By the way, the
Bowls Section annual dinner is on Monday night at the club. Im taking you along.
She got up, smiling a little. What would I do among the bowlers?
Its a family affair. Youll enjoy it.
Beyond a cursory inspection of the white taffeta and a flick with a duster at her gilt sandals,
Morny made no preparations for the club dinner. She kept wondering about the school. At her first
meeting with Mrs. Bartlett the woman had talked of later discussions upon discipline and
procedure. Morny had been daily expecting a summons to attend at the school on a certain day so
that she might familiarize herself with the layout and the duties expected of her, but Mrs. Bartlett
had apparently decided to dispense with such preliminaries. An official notification from the
council of the schools opening was all the intimation Morny received.

Sunday was quiet. Seeing that the men would be meeting on Monday evening, Mr. Malony and
Mr. Reid omitted their usual visit. Morny and Uncle Luke read on the veranda, she set the
gramophone going and played cards with them. The servants went off to one of the organized
native dancing sessions in the mine compound and came back rather the worse for kaffir beer and
unwilling to shed their leopard skins and rattling anklets. This was a regular monthly occurrence
sanctioned by the Singana mine as an outlet for high spirits, and no one was troubled by it.
Uncle Luke drove Morny to school on Monday morning. It was seven-fifteen when she waved
him off and entered the grounds, and already a few ponies were tethered among the trees, and
African nannies squatted together on the grass, gossiping expansively till the bell should call the
children inside and they could pad away in their colored felt slippers.
The children were excited and disinclined for play. They jumped to peep into windows, dared
each other to dash through the main doorway and out again.
Goo morning, Miss Blake, they chorused, knowing more about Morny than she had learned
about them.
Mrs. Bartlett was in the hall with another woman. Critically, her pale gaze roved over Mornys
slim figure.
Good morning, she said primly. Im glad to see youre wearing a blouse and skirt, though I
prefer long sleeves. And please dont curl your hair for school. Little girls grow up quickly,
without encouragement.
Morny forbore to mention that the curls were natural. It was something to be told that the white
blouse and tweed skirt were appropriate. She pleasantly greeted the third woman, a Mrs. Jenvery
who would teach needlework and music and between times help out wherever necessary.
Mrs. Bartlett belonged here; as she conducted a tour of the classrooms she was completely in
her element. The number of pupils had increased to sixty-seven rather more than she had
anticipated, but Limbusi parents, anxious to have their children near, were boarding them for five
days a week with relatives and friends in Singana.
With a sidelong glance at Morny, Mrs. Bartlett announced that applications had been received
from two teachers in Southern Rhodesia, so it did appear that the Copperbelt, in spite of the hot
climate, was coming into its own. Singana, of course, had had much publicity through the visit of
Miss Bernice Ashley, who, if she was unwholesomely interested in speedboats, also showed
herself admirably civic-minded.

This was the last place where Morny had thought to be reminded of Bernice. It was hateful to
stand in a bare classroom feeling the chill creep up her spine, sheer agony to have to recall in the
pearly morning the picture which so often robbed her of sleep at night: Grant fastening a diamond
bracelet about a strong brown wrist and inevitably sealing the gift with a kiss.
Miss Blake, youre not listening! snapped Mrs. Bartlett.
Mornys first day as a schoolteacher was the most exacting she had yet experienced. The
younger boys and girls of whom she had charge were nearly unmanageable, and she could not
pass from one lesson to the next without supervision from the principal. It would have been
wiser, in Mornys view, to acclimatise the youngsters gradually, but Mrs. Bartlett felt that only
the older girls of her own class were to be trusted not to take advantage of any relaxation of the
rules. These children must be taught obedience from the start.
During the break Morny was lectured upon system. She was given to understand that Mrs.
Bartlett was unfortunate in having been landed with an inexperienced assistant, and Morny
exceptionally lucky to be under so efficient a principal. Vera Bartlett and her brother had one
quality in common; both were painstaking. The womans thoroughness, carried to malicious
limits, became part of Mornys persecution. It pleased the principal to voice her rebukes in the
presence of Mrs. Jenvey; and even in the schoolroom, where a certain code might have been
expected to operate among associates, she was not averse from making cold, deprecatory
comments.
A good teacher does not have to joke with her pupils, she said loudly. She holds their
attention by the force of her personality.
And, Miss Blake, youll never stop these children fidgeting in their desks unless you make it a
punishable offence. The very next sound I hear in this room will earn someone a hundred lines!
In Mornys class no allowances were made for this being the first day of a new term in a new
school. It couldnt go on for ever, she told herself despondently. Mrs. Bartletts conscience would
not permit her to neglect her own pupils after today. She was merely satisfying a thirst for
vengeance. Morny went home limp as wet string but determined to stick it out.
Uncle Luke made fun of her. Not such a catch, is it? he said. I knew you were overrating it.
Were not properly established yet. Teaching is a grand profession.
But it has this in common with nursingonly those of a certain temperament make a go of it.
How was Mrs. Bartlett?

Wonderful, she said with irony. While I do as Im told, Ill get by.
I was afraid of that. We re running an article about the school this week. If I insert a wad of
flattery she may unbend.
Morny thought otherwise. No one could have quite such an exalted opinion of Mrs. Bartletts
qualifications as the woman had herself, and confirmation of it in the newspaper would hardly
improve conditions for the junior mistress.
In justice to Mrs. Bartlett she said, She was an excellent choice for principal. The council
went wrong in not hogging her to select her own assistant. But Ill manage, Uncle Luke.
He did not go back to the office that afternoon. Monday was always slack, and tonights dinner
at the club called for a few hours rest.
Morny dressed that evening without enthusiasm. The white taffeta sloped out from a slender
waist, the bodice was tight and sweetly curved, and she wore the pearl necklet that Uncle Luke
had bought for her in Cape Town. Her hair shone, but the blue-grey eyes lacked lustre. She
fastened a little white brocade cape over her shoulders and went into the corridor.
He was, and looking almost soldierly in the white dinner jacket and immaculate black trousers.
He could never look completely impeccable because of the mop of grey hair.
I havent seen that frock before, he said. Its lovely.
I was saving it... She checked herself. Oughtnt we to start?
Saving the dress? he said. What for?
She shrugged. For an occasion of this sort.
Which was not true. Subconsciously she had kept back the white taffeta for her first evening
date with Grant. She remembered thinking not so long agothe night he had come to ask her to be
of the mountain-climbing partythat if he ever invited her to dine with him at the club she would
dress up, be at her very best. Did all girls dream such delightfully mad dreams?
They locked the house, set off in the tourer. It was a brilliant night; a great theatrical moon hung
below the stars; the palms and flower-laden trees were lush and radiant, the air was scented and
warm. The rain belt had moved on without blessing Singana.

Tonight the club was gaily decorated with profusions of flowers and streamers. The crowd was
more mixed, and therefore more interesting, than usual, and the noise, till one became accustomed
to it, was shattering.
Morny got rid of her cape, returned to sip a cocktail with Uncle Luke, and when the move was
made she went with him into the long dining room. They were given a table for two near the wall,
and at once a smiling, dark-skinned waiter became attentive. Uncle Luke ordered a light wine and
pushed the souvenir menu across to Morny.
We printed that. What do you think of the gilt trimmings?
Stylish. Who designed it?
Reid and I. Since Singana is more in the news were piling up printing orders. Even the stores
are sending leaflets to residents in other towns. We ve taken on two apprentices this month and
could do with another machine hand, though heaven knows where well get one.
Morny had missed most of this. Her fingers had tightened over the deckle edge of the menu, and
her knees pressed hard together under the table. She had seen Grant enter the dining-room, tall in
a dinner suit of flawless cut, his head inclining in greetings to left and right as he followed
Bernice down the centre of the room to the table they were sharing with Dr. and Mrs. Frost.
Automatically she drew back from the table while the soup was served, and in a moment she
was able to say, What is Grant doing at a Bowls Club dinner?
He uncle looked up from breaking a roll. Hes president of the whole sports clubits closely
bound up with the mine. Everyone would feel badly let down if he didnt show up at the annual
festivities of all the sections. He sets the tone for these gatherings.
She tasted the chicken soup which had smelled so appetising when ladled at the next table, and
found it flat and savourless. Bernice was wearing blue chiffon, a shade paler than her eyes, and
her wrist displayed a heavy gold bracelet, without diamonds. Morny had taken in that much
before turning her head to avoid the chance of meeting Grants eyes.
She tried a fraction of each course, but her appetite had gone. It was not that she had been
deluding herself; she had instinctively known that Grant was Bernices most frequent escort. But
the sight of them together, accepted by the rest of those present as a well-matched, good-looking
couple and in the nature of guests of honor, brought an ache and a bitterness to her throat. If her
life was to be lived in Singana, though, she would have to accustom herself to the linking of
Bernices name with Grants. It was a nightmarish prospect.

The wine, the chatter and laughter, and Uncle Lukes familiar quiet brand of humor helped her
to maintain an outward show of good spirits. But her smile had the glitter of ice in sunshine.
The dinner ended. Mr. Reid made a short speech and called upon Mr. Randall to honor the
company with a few words. Grant spoke clearly, made suave references to the prowess of certain
bowlers and slipped in the type of witticism which was bound to go down well with their
womenfolk. Recollecting the urbane and chivalrous manner in which he had presented the Singana
Cup to Bernice, Morny reflected rather desolately that he did this kind of thing almost too well.
He was sincere without being intimate, utterly charming yet carefully aloof. Her back was
towards his table, yet she knew exactly the slant of his head, the smiling cast of his lean, tanned
features.
Presently, when other tables were vacated, Morny left Uncle Luke on the pretext of wishing to
powder her nose. The air, though warm and still, was like a benediction, and she was tempted
down into the grounds, which were fitfully illumined by standard lamps. She had not walked far
before music stole out, a nostalgic waltz played by the usual quartet in the club ballroom.
The moon had receded and whitened, the stars mocked, and somewhere in the shadows a man
laughed caressingly. Snatched kisses, she thought, between dining and dancing, and she
experienced a pang of loneliness which sent her back to the light and friendliness of the club. She
danced several times, saw Grant dutifully gliding round with Mrs. Frost, Mrs. Landon and the
wives of other mine executives. His manner when he danced with Bernice was less formal;
Morny imagined him apologizing for having been forced to neglect her.
She had got to the stage of looking at her watch every five minutes when Grant purposefully
made his way towards her and gave her an ironical bow.
Could you bear to dance with me? Ill promise not to talk.
She turned a little desperately towards her late partner, but in face of such overwhelming
competition that young man had stuttered something and faded away. More than anything Morny
wanted to dance with Grant; she longed to be natural with him, to expunge the antagonism which
walled them off from each other. But as he drew her among the dancers and held her lightly she
could not help recalling that where she was now Bernice had been five minutes ago, Bernice who
was beautiful and dashing and unself-conscious. It spoilt the dance for Morny.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
TRUE to his word, Grant said nothing at all. He danced with mechanical perfection, as if he were
preoccupied. Morny closed her eyes against the add pleasure of his nearness.
In a dry, husky voice she said, Im sorry I didnt behave too well that day we met outside the
school. I cant explain why I was such an idiot, but Im really sorry. I hope youll forgive me.
He took a few steps before asking evenly, Do you mean it wasnt true that you found me
unendurable?
I was on edge over several things. I didnt think before I spoke.
Youve left the apology rather late.
I suppose so, but I havent seen you alone. There have been opportunities, but ... well, I
couldnt get round to it.
All right, lets forget it, he said coolly. Ill be an orthodox partner and tell you that youre
very pretty tonight.
She might as well have kept quiet. He was not angry or disturbed in any way. He had requested
the dance because she was the niece of one of his friends and it would have been discourteous to
miss her out. Sick at heart, she longed for the music to finish.
When it did die, however, he nodded towards one of the open doors. Come outside. You re
too tired to dance any more, and I must confess that Ive had a surfeit of it.
He found a bench for them on the less popular side of, the terrace, got out cigarettes and, when
they were both smoking, he leaned back with his long legs crossed in front of him and his
speculative glance on the colored lights which wreathed the trees.
I was thinking of you this morning, he said abruptly.
Were you? she whispered. Why was that?
The school opening was a big day in Singana. How did you make out?

It seemed a very long time since she had winced from Mrs. Bartletts tongue. Fairly well, she
answered. I shall get down to it.
No bother with Mrs. Bartlett?
She evaded the question. I think its good to have a strict principal, and shes exceptionally
good at her job. I shall learn a lot from her.
And while youre learning shell wear you out.
I dont wilt easily. She knocked the ash from her cigarette and blew some grains from her
skirt. You put forward Mrs. Bartlett for principal because you considered old and tried methods
were of benefit in a new country. I dont entirely agree, but if thats how you want Singana school
Im willing to submit to her training. I havent much option, anyway.
Youre staying in Singana, then?
She glanced across at him quickly. Why shouldnt I? Its my home now. Uncle Lukes very
happy here.
And what about you? Youve just admitted to being on edge a fortnight ago, and I dont
somehow feel that much has happened to alter your state of mind. He took a shrewd look at the
tip of his cigarette and enquired, What are you undecided about?
She laughed a trifle unnaturally. Women are always unsettled over one thing or another, aren t
they? Im no different from the rest.
A moment or two passed in silence. Then he shifted, and his next query came like a shot from a
gun.
Are you in love?
She felt the color drain from her face; her thoughts became incoherent. Was he bantering? No,
his mood was inflexible as steel. Could she laugh without a tell-tale crack in her voice? Was her
expression as naked as she felt it to be?
She managed a crooked smile. Thats a leading question. Do you expect a reply right away?
Ive got it, he said. His cigarette described an arc as he flicked it out into the night. Theres
no accounting for why one person should fall for another, is there? At first youre just delighted in

the others company, then perhaps a tiny incident changes your whole perspective and you begin
to wonder whats hit youyou only know that it was something big. The proper procedure after
that, I believe, is a ripening, intimate friendship culminating in marriage, but three times out of
five there are snags. You have my sympathy.
Thanks, but sympathy given with sarcasm is not worth a great deal.
His mouth sloped cynically. Sympathy was the wrong word; commiseration is nearer. You re
not irretrievably in love, Morny, or youd have to do something about it. The pains of first love
are acute, but they dont last, my child. Take comfort from that. He took the cigarette from her
and pressed it out; then stood up. I havent spoken to Luke this evening. Shall we go and find
him?
Morny did not know what to make of Grant. Her apology had met no real response; he had
treated it as trite, even unwelcome. He was sharp, almost cruel in his arrogance, and it came to
her with a shock that his remarks about people in love might have applied equally to himself
except that this would not be first love for him; he was old enough to have forgotten his first
affair. This would go a long way down. If he really loved Bernice he might be suffering; there is
nothing so potent as love itself to uncover the shallows and the deeps, and Bernice was three
parts shallows. Grant would hate himself for loving someone unworthy...
Morny interrupted her conjectures; the object of ones deepest emotions is never unworthy to
oneself. He would love Bernice for what she wasan excellent sportswoman, a good
companion, a good-looking woman who displayed diamonds to perfectionnot for the tender,
adoring person he might wish her to be. She, Morny, was merely indulging in wishful conclusions.
They found Uncle Luke on the front terrace, one of a wide semi-circle of older men round a
painted iron table which held bottles and glasses. Mr. Malony pulled up a chair between his own
and Mr. Reids and gave Mornys wrist a small tug to make her sink down beside him. He slanted
her a paternal smile.
Youre a picture, my dear. If my leg werent likely to let me down Id dance with you myself.
All Irishmen can dance, you know. Luke, you dont deserve to have so winsome a girl in your
house.
Grant had circled the group and was sitting opposite, on the terrace wall. He declined a drink,
rested one shoulder against a column and, after greeting the men, gave half his attention to the
grounds.
I dont expect to keep her for ever, said Uncle Luke, unperturbed, but I wouldnt want her to
marry in a hurry, either. His smile at her was affectionate. Take no notice of him, Morny. He s

jealous.
Why shouldnt I be? demanded Mr. Malony with belligerence. Why should you have
everything! He chuckled and laid a finger along his nose. But maybe Ill get the last grin, after
all.
May I have a lime and soda? said Morny hurriedly. Mr. Reid poured and handed Morny her
glass. Mr. Malony sat there like a benign juggernaut, and as he bent forward to emphasize his next
pronouncement she shivered.
Youve called me a fool for hanging on to the tea estate when I might be spending some of my
earnings in retirement. Let me tell you something, Luke Penrose, and perhaps youll stop looking
so pleased with yourself. In a few months Ill possibly be more of a free man than you are, and
still own the plantation. I can see now that Morny hasnt told you, though she neednt have kept it
secret for my sake...
Please, Mr. Malony, she begged softly.
But when he turned her way in benevolent astonishment her last hope faded. Why not let them
in on it? Im sure Ive no objection, he boomed. And then to the others: Morny came to see me
about young Templeton. Travelling round with a forestry unit doesnt appeal to the young man any
longer; hes anxious to settle. So shes written to him, asking him to come and see me. Im hoping
to fix him up at my place, as a junior partner to begin with, and on a fifty-fifty basis later on. He
tapped a stubby forefinger on the table at Uncle Luke. So you may have a tea planter in the
family, in spite of yourself!
In the pause which followed, Morny was aware that Grants attentions were no longer divided;
the garden had them completely. He must have heard, though. For an agonized second she was on
the point of going to him, of imploring him to walk with her while she explained about Ian and
Christine. But common sense won. None of this mattered to Grant.
She raised her head, encountered Uncle Lukes hurt gaze and wished she could run away and
weep. She had left him so entirely out of her calculations, had absurdly relied upon Ians arrival
to put matters right. But events have a habit of getting under way without human assistance, and
this one was reaching unmanageable proportions.
Was it wrong to have worried more about Grants reaction than about Uncle Lukes? Hadnt
she unconsciously known that her uncle would trust her, whereas Grant, for some reason, was
certain to put the worst possible construction on whatever she did? She felt trapped.

Mr. Malony had relaxed, rubbing his hands together. He parried the comments of the other men
and took a big, self-satisfied gulp at his whisky. Uncle Luke sat pensively fingering a spray of
bougainvillaea which hung over the wall.
Grant twisted about. See you in the morning, Luke? The monthly meetings, you know.
I hadnt forgotten. Ill be over at nine.
Good. Grants hand held Uncle Lukes shoulder familiarly for a minute; he bowed to the rest.
Its been a grand party. Good night, everyone. And he strode away.
Morny sat still while the talk flowed about her. She was as conscious of Uncle Lukes unhappy
bewilderment as of her own wretchedness. She recognized voices on the terrace behind her,
caught the slam of a door and could not resist the temptation to look down as the cream car
passed, carrying Grant and Bernice back to the other end of the lake.
Ian Templeton turned up in Singana just six days after Morny had written to him, and to her
consternation he decided to put up at the small hotel on the main street. Vera was not to be
informed of his visit until he was quite sure of its success. Morny crossed her fingers and tried to
cheer herself with the reflection that things could not be much more depressing, and, in any case,
she had approached Mr. Malony with her eyes wide open to the risks. However, she did impress
Ian with the importance of his taking full responsibility for the interview at the tea estate. She had
done her share and the rest was up to him.
Dont fret, he told her, smiling. I never felt so full of courage in all my life. It was wonderful
of you to see Mr. Malony for me, Mornyto think of it at all. Im afraid Id never have had the
nerve to put it to him. If hell give me the chance Ill work on that plantation as Ive never worked
before.
The best of luck, then, she said. Ill be home by two tomorrow. Let me know how you get
on.
The next morning dragged. Morny was longing for Saturday, when she could lie in bed till
seven, secure in the knowledge that there would be no Mrs. Bartlett to brave. The children were
calming down, but it was not too easy handling two classes in one room. Each lesson had to be
prepared for the two age groups, and the older children were inclined to be patronizing, and
therefore infuriating, to the younger. The boys, in the minority and displeased at finding
themselves in a girls school, misbehaved with demoniac glee. It was impossible to prevent an
occasional uproar.

Mrs. Bartlett did not grumble. Morny got the impression that it pleased her mightily to pounce
on a miscreant and lecture him upon the fruits of inattention; and certainly she brought order and
silence to the schoolroom the moment she entered. Morny would have managed better had she
been permitted to inflict her own penalties; the monotonous doling out of lines and still more
lines did no good at all; in fact, the children seemed to glory in competing for the greatest
number. Yet Mrs. Bartlett insisted on their being the only form of punishment. The black list had
to be sent in to her each day at the close of school.
Today, Mrs. Bartlett went through the list and brought it to Mornys classroom. She stood in the
doorway for a few seconds, watching small hands combing back the bright hair and straightening
the navy linen suit. Her thin lips compressed.
Miss Blake, I notice that youve punished the Wilson boy two days running.
Morny braced herself. Yesterday he chattered incessantly and today he brought a catapult into
the room.
You should have taken it away from him. Mrs. Wilson will be annoyed at his being given lines
every day.
You said that lines were to be the only punishment.
Mrs. Wilson happens to be a friend of mine; you must use more diplomacy in dealing with the
boy. She paused, and her manner changed without softening, Do you correspond with the Levitt
girl?
Morny packed exercise books into her case and closed it. Ive had one letter from her.
Does she see my brother?
I dont know.
Determined to hang on to her dignity at all costs, Mrs. Bartlett checked her curiosity and went
from the room. The coincidence of her mentioning Christine today, when Ian was in town without
her knowledge, brought the dew to Mornys forehead.
She walked down to Uncle Lukes office. The sun was fierce and her case heavy, and it was
thankfully that she slipped into the tourer and sounded the klaxon. Almost at once her uncle came
out and got in beside her. They exchanged their usual, Hello, there, and the car rolled placidly
towards home.

Since the Bowls Club dinner there had been constraint between them, most of it on Mornys
side. On the way home from the dinner she had felt too miserable to offer explanations, and the
following morning there had been no time. Uncle Luke was too honest himself to think of forcing
secrets from Morny, and apparently he had got over the hurt of being shut out while Mr. Malony
was in the know. As Morny had foreseen, he trusted her, and she consoled herself with the
reflection that when he learned all he would approve. It shouldnt be long before she could tell
him.
Weve had a weather report through, he said now. No rain for at least a fortnight, so they
say. Grant and Malcolm are arranging to start the trek for big game in a day or two.
Whos Malcolm?
Retired majorspends most of his time at sports of various kinds, though hes not much good
at them. Hes hunted in the Congo, so a hike around Northern Rhodesia wont bother him.
How long will they be gone?
About ten days, if they have luck and meet the beasts theyre after; longer, if they dont. Miss
Ashley has practised with a rifle till shes a good shot, and Malcolms wife is one of those
women whove been in at the kill of an elephant; she roves about with a cine camera. He
shrugged. Its all news for the paper, though Im getting rather tired of the Ashley womans face.
Whatever she goes in for, it never changes.
Shes quite beautiful.
So I believe, he conceded, but I prefer expressive features to smooth ones, and her eyes are
like blue stones. He yawned. Ive had a full morning. Do you mind my having a sandwich and a
glass of milk in bed?
So Morny ate her salad alone and took her rest in the lounge on the divan. Till the school
opened she had enjoyed this tranquil hour of the day; because the house was so hushed she had
saved it for serious reading. Recently, though, she had been too mentally worn to read, yet
disinclined for sleep. She had relaxed with closed eyes and a circling brain.
She wondered about Ian and about his sister, Vera. The future, which once had gleamed so
brightly with promise, had become dull and deflated, and Morny could not see a way out of it. She
thought, When this game hunt is over I shall know. If Bernice stays on after that, it will be at
Grants invitation. A stubborn element in her nature held out against Bernice as Grants wife. He
might give her diamonds, even make love to her, but he wouldnt, couldnt marry her. He would

pull up short of that.

She wearied of the pointless mental gyrations, and got down to correcting the exercise books.
That was at least necessary and constructive.
Uncle Luke had already returned to his office when Ian came. He was slightly flushed and
bright-eyed, and his hands automatically grasped both of Mornys as if he would like to dance her
round the room. No doubt at all that his interview had been a success.
It went off so well that Im frightened, he said. I got there at eight this morning and didnt
leave till three this afternoon. Mr. Malonys a fine chap, and the plantation is a peachin firstclass condition and perfectly organized. I was able to suggest a couple of improvements which
might increase the yielddetails Ive picked up just lately in forestryand we actually got down
to one of them today; thats why Im so late. The old boy was enthusiastic.
Morny smiled. Thats a relief. Sit down and tell me about it.
He complied at some length. Morny gathered that the two had co-operated from the start. Mr.
Malony had kept nothing back, and Ian, too grateful to erect his usual fence of reserve, had
naturally slipped into an interested, comradely mood and thus shown himself at his best. During
the morning they had travelled the whole estate, talked all the time and had lunch together.
Tea planting is simple compared with forestry, said Ian confidently. I could run the place on
my own without the least trouble.
What do you think of the house?
Its old-fashioned, but theres plenty of space. With the help of a boy or two I could modernize
it myself at a very small cost.
Would Christine object to living with Mr. Malony?
Candidly, Ian showed Morny a glint of genuine humor, I dont believe Christine can resist
anyone whos willing to spoil her. He made it clear that my ... my wife would keep house, and he
wouldnt care what mistakes she made while she was getting her hand in.
Hed probably like her the better for them, commented Morny. Just having you and Christine
there caring for the plantation, and for him, will mean such a lot to him. Hes been awfully lonely,
and its what hes always wanted. I do hope Christine will agree.

Ian spoke with less certainty. So do I. I have to be back at the camp tonight, so I shant be able
to see her till next weekend. She ought to agree, particularly as her parents grounds for
objections no longer exist. Morny, Im glad its Singana and not Limbusi. We ll be far enough
from them to be entirely independent of them, and I think thats safest, for both of us.
Morny nodded comprehendingly. You fixed nothing definitely this morning?
No. He told me to think it over and discuss it with you.
With me? Morny stared at him. Didnt you mention Christine?
He laughed deprecatingly. Not by name. It seemed rather a cheek to bring in ones future wife
at that stage. If all goes smoothly Ill take her along to meet him soon. He did take it for granted
that Im getting married.
Morny was silent, analyzing the complications which apparently had not yet been cleared up. It
was her own fault; she should have put it plainly to Ian yesterday, but it had never occurred to her
that the fact that Christine was to be his wife would not emerge during their long interview.
I see now, said Ian slowly, why Mr. Malony grinned whenever your name came up. You
asked him to see me, and he concluded that you and I were going to be married. That alters things,
doesnt it?
Not drastically. If youre the right man hell take to your wife, whoever she may be.
But hes doing this for you. He and I had met, but wed never really spoken together before
today.
Dont worry. Hell like Christine. Its no longer necessary to keep all this business just
between you and me, is it?
Would a few days make much difference? You see, I feel I should be cautious till I m certain.
Id prefer not to tell Vera till the wedding is fixed up, and she d be terribly mortified if she heard
of it earlier from some other quarter. I hate begging more favors from you, Morny, but Im hoping
this will be the last.
Thats all right, she replied mechanically. Your way is sensible. Give Christine my love.
And, Ian...
Yes?

Do keep my name out of it as much as you can.

Of course. Youre marvellous, he said, and kissed her cheek. Morny said goodbye to him. It
did look as if his problem, at any rate, might successfully be solved.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN
WHEN Uncle Luke went back to his office the following afternoon, Morny accompanied him. It was
Friday, and she had shopping to do. Apart from ordering household supplies, she had to buy a
length of material for a long-sleeved white blouse and some felt remnants, if such items were
procurable, for the handwork lesson.
Friday, and the weekend stretched in front of her like a green oasis in the gritty desert of
schooldays. She was free, and if her heart was not as light as it should have been, life was at least
tolerable at this hour of the day, when heat waned and one had the abundance of two days leisure
ahead.
She bought her material, took pleasure in watching two native women gravely selecting a length
of Manchester Cotton. They were young, and each had a large-eyed piccaninny secured to her
back. Once the counter assistant had placed the rolls of flowered cotton within reach; they forgot
her existence, but tested the material between them and held long debates in their dialect upon its
suitability for the purpose they had in mind. The assistant shrugged and cast up her eyes at Morny,
but in an aside she whispered that the African women were astute and not to be fobbed off with
surplus lines.
These two were barefoot. They had about fifty copper wire rings around each ankle and
clanked like a chain gang when they walked. They wore brown coir headdresses to obscure their
own close black wool, and their cheeks had the tribal cuts common to the African women in the
district. Morny saw them meet a boy outside the shop and break into flashing smiles at some jests
he made. He was a thick, lazy-looking boy with carved bone discs the size of cotton-reels
inserted into his split lobes. Nearly all the natives wore some grotesque or picturesque ornament;
quite a few of the men were addicted to womens straw hats, and some sported feminine plastic
raincoats. Their bicycles were a joyous sight; burnished copper tubing reinforced the frames, the
spokes were hidden beneath a mass of silver foil, and the handlebars, generally of the most daring
shape, flaunted buck-horns, painted electric bulbs and pieces of leopard skin. How surprised the
British manufacturers would be could they see their products a few weeks after delivery into
Africa, thought Morny.
She gave her order to the colored assistant at the grocery store, then came out to pause once
more on the crowded pavement. A small weight in her dress pocket reminded her of her final
errand; not that she needed a reminder. She looked along the street, saw a vacant spot where the
long cream car had been, and crossed the road to enter the offices of the Singana Mine Syndicate.

The vestibule was wide, domed and cool. Marble steps curved up from the tiled hall, and at
one side of the staircase the lighted interior of a lift beckoned. The attendant, very black and smart
in a khaki drill uniform and peaked cap, stood with his hand on the polished walnut door of the
lift, his smile inviting, his bow ingratiating.
Morny did not step into the lift. She drew the envelope from her pocket. Will you take this to
Mr. Randalls office? she said.
Im sorry, madam, he answered, in accents which placed him in a social scale above houseboys and compound workers. I am not to take messages. If madam will please wait, he grandly
indicated a sumptuous leather divan, I will at once bring a messenger.
Couldnt you give this to the messenger for me?
It is not permitted, madam. I will be quick.
The lift door purred into place, the lift hummed gently as it ascended. Morny remained like a
poised bird, the envelope in her hand, her fingers hard upon the cylinder it contained. She wished
they would hurry, so that she could escape from the quiet luxury of the building. She thought of the
many offices above this gracious entrance hall, of Grants private suite which was the centre of
them and the true hub of the copper mine itself. She remembered his house, the bronzes, the
winking glass, the lovely carpets, and in a moment of clarity she knew him for a man of deep and
virile needs. He was not purely a moneyed aesthete, nor a mining engineer with sporting tastes.
His was a complex personality which none but the woman who came to understand him through
love would ever reach.
Someone else came into the vestibule, and she turned blindly from fixed contemplation of the
panelled walls to face him.
This is an honor, Grant said. Why didnt you ring for the lift?
Temporarily, she was bereft of wits. Then she held out the envelope and said with an
unaccountable tremor, Its your pencilthe one you lost near the lake. Somebody has moved the
canoethe damaged one at the lower end of our pathand I found this yesterday afternoon lying
among the weeds. It must have rolled a little way under the edge of the upturned boat when you
dropped it, and lain there ever since. Its dimmed, but I dare say it will clean up.
He slipped the envelope into his pocket. Thanks for bringing it along.
She smiled faintly. Your lift-boy is well trained. He wouldnt take it. Hes gone up to fetch a

messenger.
He has enough responsibility with the lift. His glance was keen. Have you been unwell?
No. Shopping was a bit wearing, thats all.
The lift murmured its way down to a halt. The messenger who came from it looked confused,
but the liftboy took in the situation and made an explanation, after which both stood to attention.
Grant said, Come up to my office and have a rest and a cup of tea.
I dont think I should, she began, but he was leading her firmly into the lift, standing beside
her in the illumined, pine-scented interior as they were wafted upwards.
In the presence of his chief the lift-boy accomplished the smallest of his duties with extravagant
politeness and a flourish. When the lift stopped he flattened himself unnecessarily to give them
ample space to get out.
A spacious, carpeted corridor opened before them. Grant went slightly ahead, turned a handle
and moved aside for Morny to enter a large, pleasant office massively furnished with an imbuia
desk and bookcase and opulent green leather chairs which matched the deep-piled carpet. The
windows, which took up almost the whole of one wall, were covered by white metal Venetian
blinds which deflected the slanting sun without dimming the room.
Grant pressed down a button and spoke to a box. Order lemon tea for one. Tell them to hurry,
will you, Vinson?
The nasal reply was audible. Yes, Mr. Randall. The secretary would like you to sign some
urgent cheques before you leave. And Mr. Landon telephoned to know how long youd be away. I
told him its still uncertain, but that Id let him know when I could.
Right, said Grant, and he flipped up the button. He turned to Morny. Make yourself
comfortable. Theres nothing here that bites.
Im not so sure. She sat down carefully, sank back into the easy chair and rested her hands on
its arms. Can this really be the Copperbelt?
What does it remind you of?
A picture in a glossy magazine. The desk is beautiful. If I had to work in a room like this Id

just dream.
He smiled a tight smile, as if against his will. Im glad you like it. I meant to bring you here a
long time ago when I first determined to make you like the mine and all the people connected with
it, but one way and another my intentions seem to have misfired.
It doesnt matter, she said with offhand quickness, drawing her hands down into her lap. If
youre going away youll be busy. I musnt keep you long.
Everything is in hand. The game hunt is actually the beginning of my vacation, but I shall be
coming back here for a few days before taking the main part of my holiday.
Are you going south?
Down to the ranch at Salisbury. Im thinking of selling it.
Impulsively she said, It seems a pity to sell, if you dont want to.
His regard was narrow and intent. What gave you the idea that I dont want to part with it?
She lifted her shoulders. It was your tone. If your father bought the land and stocked it when he
first settled in Rhodesia, getting rid of it now would be a wrench. Youre not sentimental over
such things, but even you wouldnt take kindly to someone else being in possession down there.
You know too much, he said tersely.
Fortunately the tea arrived, carried by a boy in white trousers and bush shirt. Grant poured, and
set a slice of lemon floating. A tiny table appeared at Mornys side and the cup was set down
upon it.
Take your time, he said. Ill have a word with my secretary and be back in a moment.
She sipped the tea. Milkless and with lemon it was surprisingly refreshing, and presently she
got up to examine the framed maps and charts upon the wall. One map indicated the tunnels of the
mine in deep red; they were like a system of veins curling round one end of the lake and out into
the wilderness of hills and valleys, with a railway line running along the side. The lowest shelf of
the bookcase held chunks of chalcopyrite, bornite and native copper, and the volumes above
tackled every aspect of geology and mining. It came to her suddenly that it must have been from
this room that Grant had first spoken to her over the telephone; Vinson, in the next office, was
probably the man who had so politely informed her that she was connected to the private offices

of the managing director of the Singana Mine Syndicate.

When Grant re-entered she was at the window, staring down at the familiar street and at the
headquarters of the Singana News, diagonally opposite.
Do you wish you were going with us tomorrow? he asked over her shoulder.
Id enjoy the trip, but not the shooting.
Yes, I remember. I was once a brute for taking a potshot at a baboon.
Perhaps I made too much fuss about it. You got angry with me that night.
He gave a sharp sigh. Ive been more often angry with you than with any other woman Ive
ever known. He paused and added non-committally, I saw Templeton in town on Wednesday.
Has he been out to see Malony?
She nodded at the window. Yesterday. Their meeting was a success.
I thought it would be. Does he need any financial help?
She turned half-way towards him. Ian? I dont think so; hes not buying a partnership, or
anything like that. When hes finally accepted Mr. Maloneys offer hell just move in with him.
If he should find himself in need of an advance, will you come to me?
Morny hesitated, took hold of her courage and looked straight up into the green-flecked eyes.
They were uncommunicative, the aquiline face was set and expressionless. Her lids lowered.
His finances are no concern of mine, she said.
Youve made his future your concern, he answered curtly, and money is bound up with any
young mans career. You re repeating once more that youd rather accept assistance from another
quarter or struggle through without it.
Tears stung at the back of her eyes. With difficulty she refrained from touching his sleeve; in his
present detached frame of mind he would detest that.
Please dont lets quarrel again, Grant. I cant talk about Ian till I have his permission. Perhaps

Ive behaved misguidedlyIve even hurt my unclebut when all this was first in my mind there
was no one I could go to. His mouth thinned and hardened, but she went on desperately, Youre
thinking I could have come to you, but youve never been that sort of friend, and you dislike Ian. I
was quite certain what your advice would be. I didnt care to worry my uncle, so I acted alone. It
hasnt turned out too badly. Her breath caught. Its odd, isnt it? If Id made a mess of it youd
only have laughed and taunted me with being a girl; probably youd have waded in and put
matters right.
Grant ignored this last. His voice was crisp and cool. Youre young and crammed with ideals,
but theyre the wrong sort of ideals. Any man worth the name makes his own opportunities; he
doesnt sit back and let a woman do the job for him.
Ian didnt know Mr. Malony, and I did.
It makes no difference.
You allow no faltering in anyone, she said, low-toned, which is rather hard on frailer
mortals. Slowly she crossed to the desk and picked up her couple of parcels. You and I seem to
have lost whatever it takes to be friendly. I cant imagine why.
I can, he said abruptly. One of these days Ill have to tell you, and after that well be
enemies for life.
She drew in her lip, thought better of what she had been about to say, and said instead, I hope
youll have good shooting, and a happy holiday at Salisbury.
Ill see you before I go south. He was opening the door, standing head and shoulders above
her as she passed through. His fingers brushed her elbow. Make this trouble right with your
uncle as soon as you canhe deserves the best from you. And look after yourself, Morny.
Goodbye, she said.
He saw her to the lift. As it descended she felt cold and forlorn. Grant in any mood had the
power to warm and encompass her. The weeks to come would be bleak and leaden.
Half an hour later she and Uncle Luke drove home. He asked what she had bought and, after
listing her purchases, she told him casually that she had returned Grants pencil and cadged a cup
of tea.
In that case he wont be along tonight, said Uncle Luke. We had an hour together this

morning, and he talked of dropping in for a drink and to say goodbye to you.
The knowledge that he would not have gone without wishing her farewell soothed her restless
nerves. It carried her through the evening and stayed with her till she slept.
The weekend turned out to be everything but the oasis to which Morny had looked forward. The
two garden-boys, feeling some peremptory and primitive pull to the bush, packed their garish tin
boxes, slung bright blankets about their shoulders and moved out. Their action reminded Samson
that he had a home somewhere, and he went about his work moodily and without zest. Luckily he
and the other two boys had wives who were content with their quarters. Samson bickered with the
plump young woman who shared his cement room, but he would not leave her because to him she
represented the six cows and ten sheep he had paid for her. Besides, in his hefty, crude fashion he
was fond of her, and her quick tongue kept him continually amazed and proud; he himself was a
slow thinker and a ponderous talker.
Morny had very little contact with the boys wives. They were shy of white people, and spent
much of the day out in the lane gossiping with the womenfolk of other house-servants. Except on
Mondays, when the household washing was their task, they had nothing to do but look after their
big-eyed babies and cook an evening meal of meat and mealies over a brazier. Thomas did the
ironing.
The news that Boss Penrose was without garden-boys travelled by bush telegraph, and a
succession of applicants had to be kept at bay by Samson, which meant that even after two boys
had been chosen he hung over the gate listening to the history of each would-be gardener.
That boy, he explained to Morny, come from Nyasalandor the Congo, or Barotseland.
He want work some bad.
Did you send him to the mine superintendent? she asked after one of these preliminaries.
He gave a prodigious shrug. Boys work at mine must stay one, two years. More money, but no
wife. That wife maybe go with some other boy.
It seemed that jealousy, intrigue and henpecking were not the prerogative of white folk.
The garden-boy problem was hardly disposed of before the refrigerator stopped working.
Within an hour the butter was oily and the meat so soft that it had to be cooked to prevent its going
bad. Ice-cream in the freezer ran to milk, cream cheese seeped through its muslin and striped
jellies melted into queer-colored water. How people in these places had managed in the days
before the refrigerator Morny could not fathom. Uncle Luke dismantled the plug and screwed it up

again, inspected the wall switch and shook his head.

It beats me. Just have to wait till Monday, Im, afraid, he said. Ill send an electrician.
On Sunday came a plea for help from their nearest neighbors, who lived beyond the trees about
two hundred yards away. The husband and wife had been called to the bedside of a sick relative
at the other side of town. Would Morny keep an eye on the year-old twins? Morny scarcely knew
the people, but she cheerfully spent hours in their walled garden, reading while the babies slept
and watching them while they played. Their nanny, whose day off was Sunday, consented to
prepare their food.
Busmans holiday, commented Uncle Luke when Morny returned that evening. She was glad
he did not refer to the visit of Mr. Malony and Mr. Reid during the afternoon. Quietude, with
Uncle Luke in his usual chair, and a light, cold supper, were what she needed most.
The new week began, with Mrs. Bartlett less cantankerous but no more amenable to suggestion.
The six hours or so at school were fatiguing but were so full that they passed quickly, and Morny
realized, to her cautious satisfaction, that she was fitting into Mrs. Bartletts routine. Each day she
carried home about an hours work on exercise books and other odd tasks, but before five oclock
she was free to sew or listen to the radio if it happened for a change to be coming over well.
Most days she went down to bathe as the sun was setting. There was seldom anyone about, and
after the intense heat of the day the lake lay calm and burdened, wraiths of mist drifting over its
brassy surface. She always swam to the same spot where the palms leaned, and occasionally she
floated beneath the hot, darkening sky and thought that Grant, wherever he and the others might be
camping, would now be back from the days hunt, and perhaps taking a dip in a river.
Inevitably, her imagination went further. A fire crackled in a clearing surrounded by raw jungle,
and as darkness came down and the stars began to glitter the group would gather in the light of the
flames and chat about the days sport and the plans for tomorrow. In her mind-pictures Grant was
not withdrawn and unsmiling, as she had known him lately. He smiled easily and mockingly, he
toasted steaks at the camp fire, drank steaming coffee and made full use of his extensive range of
badinage.
At this point Morny always strove to exert her will to suppress the next scene which her brain
conjured up; but she never succeeded. Inexorably she visualized them growing healthily weary as
the night advanced, the fire burning low outside the womens tent and Grant saying carelessly, but
with an undertone of meaning, A walk before bed, Bernice?
A man and a woman under the warm, slumbrous African sky. Could any man resist so superb a
setting for lovemaking? Would Grant want to resist it? Bernice was expecting to marry him, and

what more natural than that she should snatch at this unique opportunity of making him
acknowledge her desirableness, her eminent suitability to be his wife!
Morny loathed those last minutes of her bathe when she struggled, trembling, to the bank and
had to rest a while with her face in her hands before she could drag on her robe and stumble up
the steep path. It was the kind of torture that no human being can stand indefinitely without
suffering physically.
Perhaps the minor disaster which occurred a few days after Grants departure was in the nature
of a gesture from a benevolent providence. At any rate, it left Morny no time for bathing, no
leisure to waste upon spearing dreams.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN
At DINNER one evening Uncle Luke was quiet. He tried some jellied soup, but shook his head at the
other dishes. Morny looked at him, and her preoccupation fell away. A coin of high color stained
each cheekbone, and his hair near the temples was damp with perspiration; his mouth was slightly
parted, as if he had difficulty in breathing. Her heart turned.
Darling, youre ill! She threw down her napkin, went round to him. Youre going to bed and
Ill send for Dr. Frost.
Dont panic, my dear. Clements wife is just recovering from the same thing. A germ thats
about. Theres no need for the doctor, but I will go to bed.
He refused assistance. It was only a sort of chill which a nights sleep would go a long way
towards curing. She was not to work herself up over nothing; one must expect these little troubles
in the hot season. This was Africa, remember. Nevertheless, as soon as he had gone to his room,
Morny shut herself up in the hall and telephoned Clement.
The assistant editors sympathy was instant and practical.
Its a fever, Morny, lasting about three days. After that he ll still have to rest. My wife had her
dose last week and shes not a hundred per cent yet. Ill get in touch with the doctor for you.
Would you like me to come out now?
No, Ill manage, thanks. But do come in the morning.
Ill be there early. And dont let him worry about the paper. This weeks edition is nearly
ready. I can handle it.
Ill help you, she said. Thank you again.
Twenty minutes later Dr. Frost drove up. He did not spend long with Uncle Luke, but when he
came out into the lounge he gave Mornys shoulder a companionable pat.
Dont look so stricken. This comes every year. Some people are immune to it and some get it
lightly. Your uncle s is a fairly severe type, but start giving him these tablets right away and
regularly every four hours during the night. Ill look in again before noon tomorrow.

Is it dangerous?
Not in these days when we have drugs to bring down the temperature quickly. But at his age
we have to watch the heart. Her sudden whiteness brought his hand again to her shoulder. His
heart is perfectly sound at the moment, but the fever leaves behind certain toxins which may take a
week or two to clear. Till they do he must rest completely.
I understand. Once hes under doctors orders hes a very good patient.
He smiled. Men are, you know. Its the women we cant trust to look after themselves. Share
his nursing with someone else, if you can. The worst will be over in two or three days.
All that night Morny spent in Uncle Lukes bedroom. He was restless and sweating, and when
she gave him the tablets he swallowed them automatically, without looking at her. She had the
frightening conviction that he did not know her, that he was not far from delirium. As in most
cases of fever, dawn brought relaxation. Daylight stole into the room, showed him grey and still;
his breathing had improved but his skin still burned.
Morny had heard about the swift action of various fevers but she would never have believed,
without seeing, that one of them could reduce the hale Uncle Luke of yesterday to this sick,
prostrate man of today. She was dazed with sleeplessness, hollow with hunger yet without
appetite.
It was half past six, when Joe was making coffee, that Clement turned up. Homely Clement,
who had lived all his life in the Rhodesias and now cherished an unbounded affection for the man
who was training him in the best traditions of newspaper editing. Clement was not in the least
scared by the sight of Uncle Luke, colorless and sweating. His face puckered with concern,
though, and he immediately got down to changing the drenched pyjamas for dry ones.
You look terrible, he told Morny in the dining room. You d better get some sleep. Im
staying here. Ive brought some stuff to write up.
Clement, Ive just rememberedthe school!
Theyll have to do without you.
But this is only my second week. Mrs. Bartlett will be furious if Im absent.
Shes human, isnt she? Send her a note.

I cant. Ill go and see her. How long are you free?
All day, if necessary, so long as I can use the telephone and one of your boys?
Then Ill go to the school at the usual time and come home at the break.
You need sleep, Morny, he protested.
I hang on a little longer. I dont feel sleepy.
Which was true. Her lids had drooped around midnight and again at about four, but now her
eyes were wide and dark, and the heaviness had shifted to her limbs. With Clement in charge of
Uncle Luke she could at least perform some of her duties at the school.
She took a shower, had some toast and coffee while she dressed, and went in to see her uncle.
He was still sleeping soundly, and Clement was as busy at the desk as : if this were his usual
practice at seven in the morning. His placidity was a balm. She smiled at him and edged out of the
room.
Afterwards, Morny could not have explained how she got through the first hour at school. She
was aware that the children played up, that they had to remind her to collect the homework and
dole out the newly arrived grammar books, but she led them through parsing and definitions
almost unconsciously. Once the lesson was finished her sense of reality began to assert itself.
Uncle Luke was in excellent hands and she could do him no good by worrying.
When the break came at ten-thirty she approached Mrs. Bartlett. The woman listened unmoved,
surveyed Morny dispassionately.
That kind of fever isnt so serious that you have to sit up with the patient all night. Ive met
with it several times. You could have slept between giving the medicine.
I was too anxious, and anyway, I didnt mind missing the nights sleeps Ive mentioned it
because the three most important lessons are over, and I thought Mrs. Jenvey could take my class
for the rest of the morning. Ill try to arrange something different for tomorrow.
Mrs. Bartletts long, regular features expressed displeasure. Who is with your uncle now?
His assistantbut the paper cant run itself during their absence, and it comes out tomorrow.

Personally, said Mrs. Bartlett firmly, I consider the school of more importance than the
weekly newspaper. If you yourself were ill Id have to make concessions, but I dont feel in the
least bound to allow you leave to nurse a relative. You may go home during the break, but if
youre not needed there please come back. Mrs. Jenvey has enough to do.
Morny was annoyed but scarcely surprised. Driving home in the tourer she thrust Mrs. Bartlett
from her thoughts, and when she reached the house her heart was beating up in her throat, for Dr.
Frosts car was at the kerb.
She met the doctor as he was leaving the porch. He gave her a grin which vanished as he took
in her pallor.
My word, he said, this wont do. Cant have the two of you seedy.
How is he? she demanded at once.
Following the normal course. Temperatures down to a hundred-and-two. Carry on with the
tablets. There was a pause after the brief sentences. Take things in your stride as Clement does
and let the school look after itself for a day or two. Im sorry I havent a nurse available.
Id rather take care of him myself, thanks, Dr. Frost.
She ran indoors, tiptoed to her uncles bedroom. He looked better, though the grey hair which
usually stood out against brush and comb was strangely lank. He opened his eyes, said, Hello,
Morny, and closed them again. She stood there quivering for a minute, but he seemed to have
slipped over the rim again into sleep.
She found Clement in the dining room, his copy spread, all over the table and his shirt sleeves
rolled high. He raised his head and crinkled a smile at her.
The doc said hes all right
Yes, I saw him. Do you want to get to the office, Clement?
Ill stick around till lunch time. You go to bed.
Dully she answered. Im going back to the school in case I have to have time out tomorrow.
She didnt wait to argue. Her only regret was that she had asked a favor of Mrs. Bartlett. She
would certainly avoid doing so again; it would be less humiliating to stay away and explain

afterwards.
Gradually, Uncle Lukes fever abated, but the drug responsible for his improvement left him
weak and listless. He hardly bothered to speak, and he had either forgotten the newspaper or
ceased to care about it. Clement came again on Friday morning, but he and Uncle Luke only
exchanged a word or two.
Again Morny faced a week-end with relief. The slackening of tension was almost unbearable,
yet she could not sleep. She set the alarm and collapsed upon her bed, but the smallest sound
startled her into awareness. Even at night she only dozed, and in the stifling darkness she was
beset by fears.
At Clements suggestion no one but the few closely associated with Uncle Luke were told of his
illness.
Everyone knows him, and youd have the whole town on the telephone, he said to Morny.
You both need quiet. Ring me if you want anythinganything at all.
Before this, Morny had never thought much about Clement. He was ordinary; he respected
Uncle Luke, but who didnt? Now she found him not only likeable for himself but thoughtful and
infinitely kind, and she knew there was no underlying motive in his kindness. He came every day,
made her lie down or go for a walk, and on Sunday he sent her to his own house to have lunch
with his wife while he are the food Joe had prepared for Morny. Between them Clement and
Morny nursed Uncle Luke over the sweating first phase of his illness, and together they rejoiced
when he asked to be propped up with two pillows.
Weakness had sapped Luke Penrose s usual interest in the everyday life about him. He perused
last Fridays newspaper and accepted Clements word that the next number was well in hand.
Morny got the permission that his pulse would hardly have quickened had he been told there
would be no issue of the Signana News this week, but she had no doubt that when the effects of
the fever were dissipated he would examine every article written while Clement was in charge,
and woe betide his assistant if the standard of writing and presenting facts were lowered by an
iota.
By Monday he could be left with Thomas. Morny hurried home during the half-hour break, and
she was there again at one-thirty to eat a salad with him in his room. He slept a great deal, and
during those intervals she helped Clement with all the oddments of information which go to make
up a local newspaper.
Since the Limbusi news had been incorporated, the paper had graduated to ten sheets. Space
had to be reserved for various items, corners had to be filled in and every detail must have news

value or appeal.
A local weekly has little kinship with the big daily, Clement stated. You look through a
daily and miss half the items, but every word in a local is read by the majority of the towns
inhabitants. Theyre interested in everything and everybody in the district. Mrs. So-and-sos
charity party, somebodys wedding, someone elses accidentif they dont know the people they
know the names. We cant afford to miss out a single scrap of news that comes in, because if we
do, someone will be offended. Youve got to pander to em, Morny. As your uncle always says,
Show them that you like them, and they cant help but like you. Thats one of our office
maxims.
Morny was given the Limbusi news to edit. The reporter there had imagination and zeal, but
lacked a knowledge of syntax and the fine touch which does not labor the crude but points the
good; he merely reported, sensationally and floridly, every incident which came his way,
oblivious of another of the office maxims: As soon as a child can read, he may read the Singana
News.
Living with Uncle Luke had taught Morny a lot about writing. She knew his tastes, recoiled as
instinctively as he did from the jarring phrase, the too-exuberant descriptive passage. But her very
knowledge of him made her task more exacting. Whereas the faults would have leapt out at him
she had to trace them, and re-phrasing which would have taken him ten minutes kept her pondering
for half an hour. She liked the work, but it entailed a continuous race with time, so that she was
seldom in bed before midnight and darent get up later than five.
Without completely realizing it she was in a state of chronic tiredness, but Uncle Lukes daily
improvement was a reward beyond price. He knew from Clement that she was doing her bit for
the News, and probably imagined her putting in an hour now and then when she had nothing else to
do. His first sign of reviving interest in the paper came on Tuesday evening. Morny had called
Thomas to collect the supper-tray, and was straightening the bedclothes when her uncle smiled at
her thoughtfully.
I hope Clement will remember to look up some snippets for the Thinkers Column on the
leader page, he said. Readers like a few wise remarks from the famous.
Weve chosen ten from your notebook.
Mix them well, he said, and the more pithy they are the better.
Soon after this he settled for the night, and Morny drove down to his office. Clement was in the
editors chair, frantically scratching his head. One hand burrowed among the papers.

Why should all this happen this week? he groaned. A woman loses jewellery from a hotel
bedroom, another is knocked down by a motor cycle, the hospital requests the presence of a
reporter at the dedication of a new ward, and tomorrow a witchcraft case comes before the
magistrateand thats not a tenth of it. I still havent tackled the sports. If only my wife knew
shorthand!
Come now, she said, Wheres your usual calm approach to catastrophe? Ive brought the
Limbusi reports, so you can give me some of that mound on the desk.
It was turned one oclock when they parted. Morny was so uncertain of herself that she left the
car out on the road rather than negotiate the garage drive. She tumbled into bed, began to dream
about the gruesome details of the witchcraft case and was awakened by the alarm. It was five
oclock, not quite light and oppressively hot.
The overcast skies were here again, hanging low over the town and creating a sultry
breathlessness. The schoolchildren were thick-headed, though sitting in their desks they must have
been much cooler than Morny. By the time the school closed her clothes clung with perspiration
and her temples throbbed. It was Wednesday, and Saturday seemed incredibly distant.
The only spot of sunshine was a note left at the house by Dr. Frost. She need have no further
anxiety about her uncle, it said, but it would be safer for him to rest for another week. No work,
not even the mental kind, till after the weekend, and it wouldnt hurt to keep him in bed till
Sunday.
Morny went into Uncle Lukes room and kissed him. Then she read the note to him. He looked
at her with his old, tranquil humor.
Im not in a hurry to slip back into harness. Theres not much doing just now, and the
responsibility will be good for Clement. He says everything is going smoothly, but I expect hes
putting in long hours. Next month Ill give him a weeks leave as a bonus.
She nodded. Hes been grand.
And so have you, my dear. You re looking thin and pale. You must take more rest and let
Thomas do all the waiting on me.
Im all right. Its the heat. Shall we have lunch?
Morny did not eat much; it seemed weeks since she had last had enjoyment from a meal. She
left Uncle Luke to his nap and walked in the garden, smoking a cigarette. Her head still ached and

the stickiness of her skin persisted, but she had become accustomed to subjugating her own
sensations. When her cigarette was finished she would go through the school books in her case,
and after that she might fit in a bath. Tea with Uncle Luke, an hour down at the office with
Clement, then back for dinner. She hoped it would not be necessary to work as late as last night,
or she would be flat out tomorrow. The telephone rang in the hall. Morny tossed away her
cigarette and hurried indoors, snatched up the receiver to stop the ringing and pressed a hand to
her pounding forehead.
Who is it? she said, with unwonted sharpness.
Is that you, Morny?
She trembled, went clammily cold and grasped the receiver more tightly. Yes, she answered.
This is Grant. We got back about twenty minutes ago. How are you?
Unreasonably, Morny found herself hardening against him. Very well, thanks. Did you have a
good trip?
So-so. Im glad its over. Is Luke resting?
Again she yielded him a monosyllable. Yes.
You sound very abrupt. Perhaps I butted in on your sleep, too.
No, I was in the garden. Still on a brittle note she enquired, What did you shoot?
A few pests. Bernice got the lion she was after, so everyone was happy. He paused. I
telephoned you right away because I thought you might like to come to Minona for the rest of the
day. After the dust on the road I can do with a bath, but I could pick you up in half an hour.
Youve never really seen the place in daylight. Her reply was so long in coming that he added
peremptorily, Are you there, Morny?
Its impossible. She swallowed, hoping to melt the harshness of pain from her voice. I shall
be too busy today, Grant.
I see. His tone indicated plainly that he did nothing of the sort. What about dinner?
I ... I cant.

Just like that, with icy cynicism. You cant. No explanation, of course. Inconvenient of me to
ring at all, wasnt it?
Morny couldnt believe that the thud in her ear was Grant replacing his receiver. She had been
analysing, with as much precision as her aching head would permit, whether it were politic to let
him know about Uncle Lukes illness. He was sure to hear about it soon from some quarter, but by
the time he did the News would be in the press and Uncle Luke stronger.
Despite physical weariness her pride remained fierce. He had been away having fun and
excitement with Bernice Ashley, had returned feeling that a house party would fitly end the
expedition and patronizingly decided to give Morny a break. But, wait. He had not mentioned a
party. Would he invite Morny alone? It was improbable, but just sufficiently possible to make her
sick with renewed longing.
She sat down in the lounge and dropped her head upon the arm of the chair. She wished she had
told Grant about Uncle Luke, yet was aware that she could not have borne his compassion. Were
he to learn the truth he would immediately take charge of the situation; find someone else to help
Clement and perhaps even inform Mrs. Bartlett that for the rest of the week she must do without an
assistant. Being managed by Grant would be an exquisite but intolerable anguish.
Presently she moved, got down to the work she had brought home. But while she ticked and
corrected, the image of Grant insinuated itself between her vision and the blotchy pages. He was
home, if only for a day or two. Singana was complete again, and surely, surely she would see him
before he left for Salisbury.
And what of Bernice? She had climbed her mountain, shot her lion. What of that other item on
her itinerary? Salisbury was not so far from Bulawayo, and it could easily be Grants intention to
show Bernice the ranch where he had been born. No doubt it had already been discussed between
them, and a date agreed upon.
A sudden tap at the outer door made her start and go white; her nerves must be haywire. She
jerked up and went out, but it was only a piccanin with a telegram. She signed for it, vaguely
turned the envelope about, knowing there could be nothing in it to touch her deeply.
The wire was from Ian Templeton, and read: Everything rosy. Will be in Singana on Friday
and stay the weekend.
For a week Ian had completely eluded her mind, and now she recalled him and Christine as if
they were remote figures in a story, not real persons at all. Everything rosy meant they would be
getting married and coming to live at Singana with Mr. Malony. How nice, she thought
inadequately.

Morny!
Swiftly, she turned to answer her uncles summons. Coming, darling!

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
MY DEAR, said Uncle Luke when she entered his room, the new garden-boy is hacking down the
branches of my favorite wild palm. I can see him plainly. Shout at him to leave the trees alone.

She hastened to the window, made the boy understand that pruning must not be undertaken
without the masters supervision, and twisted back to look at Uncle Luke. Before she could speak
he nodded at the pink slip in her hand.
Is that a telegram?
She hesitated. Its from Ian. Hes coming to Singana on Friday.
He leaned back among his pillows, watching her shrewdly. I suppose that brightens you up a
bit?
It means hell be accepting Mr. Malonys offer. Im pleased about that.
Im not so sure that I am. I like Ianhes steadfast and conscientiousbut theres weakness in
him. Id hate you to marry for pity, Morny.
I shant. She paused, weighing the wisdom of absolute frankness. It could not harm anyone
now, and Uncle Luke had a right to be told. You were rather taken in by Mr. Malony that night at
the Bowls dinner, werent you?
He held his chin and stared at her steadily. Taken aback is nearer what I felt, but only for that
evening. I knew you werent in love with Ian Templeton, and I was pretty sure that anything youd
done for him had only kindness as its motive. I was sorry you couldnt be natural with me...
I was so miserable!
So I gathered. Several things became obvious to me that evening. Their glances collided, but
Mornys slid quickly away. Why didnt you contradict Mr. Malonys joke about your marrying a
tea planter?
It was only a joke, and I was afraid of jeopardizing Ians chances. And there was something
else. It was a relief to unburden even so little. Grant and I had been talking. He was curt, almost

nasty, about Ian; and he was there listening to Mr. Malony, if you remember.
Yes, I remember. Uncle Lukes voice had a dry, knowing inflexion. So you considered
acquiescence the wiser course.
It was easier. I badly wanted to be honest with you, though.
Of course you did. I didnt mind waiting, except that I could see you were making yourself
unnecessarily unhappyand candidly, I didnt think Ians small problems were worth it.
She came from the window to the foot of the bed ... mechanically bent to smooth a tiny fold in
the blanket. Ians problem was a big one. If youre sure you wont get tired Ill give you the
details.
He smiled and waved to the chair at the bedside. Ive just slept for two solid hours. Go ahead,
my dear.
After a halting start it all came out, all except Mrs. Bartletts part in the affair; there was no
sense in making him furious. As it was he frowned with annoyance when she mentioned her own
visit to Limbusi with Ian.
What a fool the fellow is, he exclaimed, and a thoughtless fool at that! It seems to me that if
he hadnt hauled you into it hed still be wallowing in the messand thats about all he
deserves.
The opposition from Christines parents was tough, and she herself was undecided about
everything except loving Ian. It isnt like you to be unsympathetic.
If you hadnt been dragged into it I wouldnt be, he said more calmly. Well, I suppose those
two will make Malony a happy man, so a certain amount of good will come out of all this. But I
dont like your share in it. Even the mildest type of deception causes misunderstandings. Im
getting on and Ive known you too long and too intimately to leap to false conclusions about you,
but what about others who see only the surface?
Others? she echoed, and her nails curled tightly into her palms.
Grant, for instance, he said evenly.
What would ... he care?

I havent the ghost of a notionbut Ill bet that you have.

Something subtle, impossible to discuss, hung between them. It had to be dispelled, at once and
ruthlessly.
Grants back, by the way, she said with an attempt at carelessness. He rang up while you
were asleep, but I didnt tell him youd had fever.
Why on earth not?
Hed interferehe always does. Besides, hell have plenty to do at the office before he goes
to Salisbury.
Uncle Luke again stroked his chin and forbore to comment upon this piece of feminine logic. I
suppose Reid will have the details of the game hunt for an article. The readers will expect an
account and Mrs. Malcolms photographs in this weeks issue. You might ask Clement about it,
Morny, and remind him that Grant will have to see a proof. Mildly he added in explanation,
Grants our managing director, my dear. I think you often forget that.
Occasionally I do. But I doubt if he ever does.
She left him then, to make some tea, and a quarter of an hour later she drank a cup of it with him
before setting off for the News offices.
Clement was submerged, typing from his shorthand notes of the witchcraft trial while the desk
became smothered with papers dumped there at intervals by the boy. Morny sorted over the heap,
found the long envelope containing Mr. Reids report and Mrs. Malcolms pictures, and ripped it
open. The photographs were good: one of Bernice posed with her large, furry victim, another of
her fishing in a tropic-looking stream, and one of Major Malcolm and the native bearers standing
with a baby elephant which had apparently been captured alive. Grant appeared in only one of the
pictures, that which showed the whole party round a meal table outside a tent; he was seated
between Bernice and the major. Morny returned the photographs to the envelope.
Are you going to splash this article? she asked.
I darent. Reid throws in dashes and capitals galore, and it would need re-writing. I wonder if
your uncle would agree to our publishing a line of pictures across the top of page three with a
descriptive paragraph under each?
Do whatever is simplest.

I think we will. Could you read the article and do the paragraphs for me? This chunk will take
me another hour.
Morny performed the task detachedly, went home in the dark, had a bath, some fruit and coffee,
and drove again to town at about eight-thirty. It was slightly cooler, but the humidity which was
inseparable from blanketing skies kept the pores open and the brain sluggish. Morny worked with
Clement in a vacuum of lethargy. In an effort to remain wide awake she drank too much coffee and
kept a cigarette going.
At eleven those on overtime in the printing room went home. Morny was nearing the end of her
reserves. The headache which had hovered all day planted itself blindingly across her brow; she
was trembling with nervous fatigue, and the typed words danced and ran together before her eyes.
Across the desk Clement was feverishly typing and patently making many mistakes.
He gave her a worried glance. Heaven knows what your uncle would say if he could see you
now. Youd better go, Morny. The rush will peter out during tomorrow.
Ill finish off these hospital notes... She stopped and listened.
There was a loud knocking at the main, door. Clement got up, ran grubby fingers through his
hair in a manner reminiscent of Uncle Luke. The policeman, he sighed. Hes earlier than last
night. Ill go and tell him alls well.
She was glad of his absence, thankful for a private moment in which to press her hands to her
cheeks and slump forward with her elbows on the desk. She heard him talking, the closing of the
door and the advancing footsteps and voices. A second before Clement came into the office she
was aware that Grant was with him.
In a reflex action she straightened, took up her fountain pen and made a few meaningless marks
on the sheet in front of her. Without haste, she looked up. Grant was wearing a white dinner jacket
which made the most of his tan; his vitality was like a challenge in the jaded room. He stood
above her, his jaw set, his eyes glittering, and he spoke with a deadly quietness.
So youre a newspaper woman, too. No end to what you can do, is there? Wheres Luke?
Hes at home, in bed.
You see, sir, said Clement s troubled voice, weve just been unlucky. Theres been nothing
but one incident after another, and they all have to go into the paper. It would have been a hectic
week even with Mr. Penrose on the job. Without him its been just awful.

Without him! Is he sick?

Again it was Clement who responded. He went down with fever a week agoyou know, the
seasonal fever. Hes over it now, but Dr. Frost advises another weeks rest.
Morny had never seen Grant like this before, so tightened up, and vibrant as a leopard
preparing to spring. The room was charged with his presence, quivering with his leashed anger.
With the same dangerous softness he said, Is your car outside, Clement? I thought so. Youll
find Miss Ashley sitting in mine; we saw the light and Lukes tourer, and I decided to investigate.
Will you explain to her that Im detained here and take her down to her house in your car?
Clement said, Certainly, Mr. Randall, and disappeared.
Morny sat nervously at the desk, pen in hand. The prolonged silence forced her to raise her
head, to see in the greenish eyes a blend of violence and dislike. She saw him look at the several
empty coffee cups, the cigarette butts on the ashtray, and back at her pale face with the smudges
under the eyes. She took a breath which shuddered in her throat, and steeled herself to withstand
whatever might come next.
Grant walked round the desk, dropped into Clements chair and pushed aside the typewriter.
Part of Mornys registered the diminishing roar of Clements rather aged vehicle and went on to
visualize Bernices chagrin as she sat withdrawn from the assistant editor of the Singana News.
But the major portion of her depleted power of concentration was trained upon Grant.
He leaned over, so close that Morny caught his particular fragrance. If you werent so worn,
he said, scarcely moving his lips, Id hurt youId have to. But Ill be generous and take it that
you kept quiet about Lukes illness when I telephoned you this afternoon because you were really
too spent to talk to anyone about anything. You may even have resented my being away when it
happened, and unconsciously have blamed me for something of which I was entirely ignorant.
Well let that part of it go. What Ill never understand is why you took on helping Clement when
you were well aware that my secretary would have fixed him up with temporary assistance.
It didnt occur to me, she said, her eyes downcast. If it had, I wouldnt have dared to act on
it. I dont know your secretary, or any of the people in your office.
They know Luke and respect him. Theyd have arranged something.
My uncle hasnt been well enough to take much notice of whats going on, or perhaps hed
have told me to contact your office. To prevent his becoming anxious Clement let him think it was

a slack period. Things have erupted in a bunch mid-week, but the excitement is nearly over now.
Its quite over, for you, he said in clipped tones. Youre not to come here again.
She slanted her chair to avoid facing him. Dictating to other people is the breath of life to you.
That was why I didnt mention Uncle Lukes fever to you this afternoon; you cant resist wading in
to take charge.
There are not many men, he said with controlled heat, whod let a girl wear herself thin and
distracted when a sensible step or two could avoid it. Ive never been so sickened in my life as
when I came in here a few minutes ago to find you looking like death in the midst of this! He
flung out a hand which just missed sweeping cups and ashtray to the floor. Whos been nursing
your uncle?
The same two, she said with bitter flippancy: Clement and I; Clements been wonderful.
And to forestall your next question, I havent played truant from school, either. Women are
notoriously stupid, but they get along somehow without making too much ado about it. She gave a
brief, unsteady laugh. So you can keep your pity, Grant. It isnt needed.
I dont pity you! Im merely so angry that I can hardly trust myself to speak to you. What, in the
name of sanity, do you suppose I am? If Luke falls sick I have a right to know.
Thats true enough. You pay his salary...
He blazed. You can keep those sweet reflections to yourself! The Syndicate pays his salary; I
dont. Ive always regarded Luke as a friend, a close friend. He leaned farther, gripped her
wrist. Look here, Morny. Singanas your home, and mine. Im not giving up Lukes friendship
just because you hate me, so youd better revise your estimate. I dont hate youI never shall
but Ive come very near to disliking you sometimes, you yourself have been the cause.
She withdrew her hand, rubbed her wrist he had held and gave him a white, brittle smile.
Getting quite tense, arent we? I expect youve got into the habit of it at this time of night, but this
isnt the jungle and Im not Bernice Ashley. She doesnt have to work, so Im sure shes much
more responsive. Her words were sharp with pain. Im tired. If youve no objection Ill go
home.
She sprang too precipitately to her feet, closed her eyes for a moment against a hammering in
her temples. She tried to get away from the desk, to avert herself and regain her composure, but
Grant was at her side, his arm strong and inflexible across her shoulders. The back of his other
hand touched her bare arm, her face.

Youre hot. Do you feel ill?

Its only a headache. Leave me alone, Grant!
His arm tightened. Ill drive you, and send Lukes car along later.
Leave me alone. I dont want your help!
He paid no attention to this, and when she tried to drag away from him he half-lifted her so that
she was forced to go with him. When she ceased to struggle he let her walk but retained a
decisive hold on her elbow. They reached the car; he put her inside it and turned round to his own
seat. The starless heavens were shot with dry, white lightning and thunder grumbled away in the
hills.
He drove without speaking, his knuckles gleaming on the wheel, the muscle hard in his jaw and
his mouth straight and unyielding. Within minutes he had stopped at the kerb in front of Uncle
Lukes house.
Ill go in with you, he said.
She was subdued, all fight gone out of her. Wearily she answered, No, youd wake my uncle.
Im going straight to bed.
He turned sideways and put out a hand, sensed her shrinking and let the hand drop. Sleep late
in the morning. Ill call at about ten. Youll feel better then, and Ill promise not to let fly. We ll
have a long talk.
Dully she replied, We ve nothing to discuss, Grant. Uncle Luke will be glad to see you,
though.
Neither of them said good night. Fumblingly, conscious that he was watching from the gate, she
let herself into the hall. She felt as a sapling must feel after a gale, ragged and spineless. The
alarm clock in her room said five minutes to twelve. It was less than an hour since the printing
room hands had gone and left her working with Clement, yet Morny had the sensation of having
passed from one phase of existence into another.
She drank a glass of water and slipped between the sheets to lie preparing for the wakefulness
which so often attends over-tiredness. But no sooner had her muscles relaxed than sleep came,
merciful and swift.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THE following afternoon a storm broke over Singana, the first of the season. The thunder was
tremendous, the lightning violet-colored, dangerously horizontal and incessant, and the rain roared
about the house like a million furies. It lasted nearly two hours and departed in a sulphurous haze,
leaving the district steaming and gurgling.
This was nearer Mornys initial expectations of the Copper-belt. The sky was copper-hued, a
coppery vapour rose from the sloots and the lake was a gargantuan bowl of the liquid metal. The
heat was drenching, and branches hung limp in the torrid atmosphere. Now, it was easy to believe
that the country was bordered by the Congo.
Only the flowers thrived. The bronze and green leaves of cannas were huge and lush, the
blooms exotic velvet flags. When the sun appeared, the dark luxuriant foliage of hibiscus became
hidden by lovely scarlet trumpets and the poinsettias were more brilliantly unreal than ever. One
could almost watch the grass thicken and new buds form in the flower beds. The garden-boy
muttered to himself; in this weather he had no energy for grass-cutting, no enmity for the weeds
which sprang up six inches in a day.
Morny walked half-way down the path which led to the lake, but it was too slippery and
treacherous for her to venture farther. As it was, the climb back was tricky, much t oo arduous in
this heat. But it was good to have leisure, to know that she could go to bed at nine and sleep
through till six.
She had come home from school and lunched with Uncle Luke in his room, but the storm had
curtailed their conversation. He had mentioned Grants call, but only casually, and she had the
conviction that Grant had said nothing about last night, and offered no comment upon hearing that
she had gone to school as usual this morning. She was thankful. To-day she was sufficiently
recovered to feel slightly hollow at the memory of that short scene with Grant; tomorrow it would
begin to hurt, as everything connected with him hurt. There seemed to be no end to the agonies of
living.
Later that evening she was able to put a question to Uncle Luke. When is Grant calling again?
Tomorrow morning, he said.
So he had chosen a time when he knew she would be away. Well, she had told him to leave her
alone, that they had nothing to discuss. What perverse quality is it in women, Morny wondered

despondently, that embitters them when a man takes them at their word?
It was Uncle Luke who remembered on Friday that Ian was due that day. Morny had forgotten
him again, but her uncles reminder set up a sort of relief in her heart. Ian was someone of her
own generation with whom she could be nearly frank. H e was obsessed with himself and
Christine, but the fact that Morny knew all about him brought ease to their companionship. Ian
made no demands upon her personality. What he askedher compassion and encouragementhe
could have requested from any woman.
He came after dinner, a fair young man with a smile lurking perpetually at the corners of a
naturally serious mouth. He was concerned about Uncle Lukewished to heaven the fever had
made its appearance while he was in Singana so that he could have lent a hand; poor Morny must
have had a time of it. Uncle Luke regarded him speculatively, and kept as quiet as he usually did
when he was thinking deeply.
In the lounge, after Uncle Luke had been settled for the night, Ian got on to his favorite topic. He
was staying with his sister till Sunday evening. Perhaps Vera had told Morny of the letter she had
received from him yesterday? Morny shook her head.
Ian said, Possibly she was waiting to see me first. I put everything in the letter, leaving you out
as you wished. I explained about the offer from Mr. Malony as if it were something Id been
negotiating while I was stationed here. It pleases her that I shall be living fairly close to the town.
About Christine she was more reserved.
Its come right, though?
Unbelievably right. The Levitts are happy about it, and Christine herself is nearly as
overwhelmed as I am. Shes invited you to Limbusi for the day tomorrow, but I dont suppose
youll care to leave your uncle?
No. Maybe Ill go there alone, next week.
I wish you would. Christine says it was you who made her stiffen upnot so much your
advice as the way you gave it; I dont believe shes ever been treated as an adult by another
woman before. And, of course, well both be eternally grateful to you for approaching Mr.
Malony.
He wasnt a difficult proposition. Will you be going over to see him?
Yes, on SundayI wrote to him about Christine, too. I thought it best to prepare him by letter.

I may even persuade Vera to go with me to the plantation.

I shouldnt, said Morny hastily. Theyd never mix, and Mr. Malonys capable of bringing
my name into it. If you can, you must keep them apart till you marry. What are your arrangements,
by the way? Will Mrs. Bartlett unbend and give you both her blessing?
He gave a short laugh. At present its impossible to weigh up what course shell take, but with
careful handling she should come round; deep down, she wants to attend the wedding. Shes
really gratified about the tea plantation, and quite delighted, in her reticent fashion, that I chose to
spend these few days with her rather than at Limbusi. She has one or two feminine
characteristics!
Some of them overpoweringly strong, thought Morny with an inward grimace. She hoped that
the softening effect of Ians news would extend to Mrs. Bartletts relations with her junior
mistress.
And the date of the wedding? she queried.
Itll be in six weeks time at Limbusi. Ive given a months notice to my chief, which will
leave me free about three weeks from now. I shall move straight in with Mr. Malony and make the
more necessary alterations to the house; Christine will be there a lot, too, so that it wont come
strange after our honeymoon. Were aiming to spend a fortnight at the Falls.
It sounds lovely.
As distances go in Africa, the Victoria Falls were not far away, but Morny recalled the
magnificent smoke that thunders, the cool breeze along the Zambesi, the crocodiles and hippos
she had seen with Uncle Luke, and their adventures among the islands, with a nostalgia for
something far off and impossible to recapture. A honeymoon in such a place did not bear thinking
about.
Youll come and see us married, wont you, Morny? Ian was urgently demanding. Mrs.
Levitt will post you an invitation.
He said more, much more, and when he left he had Mornys word that she would dine with him
at the club the following evening. He was to spend most of the day with Christine, but would
return to Singana before dark.
It was cooler on Saturday, and cloudless. The curtains billowed gently, admitting breaths of air
laden with narcotic perfume. Giant butterflies winged past the open windows, and big things, like

outsize hornets, added their zooming to the humming of myriads of unseen insects. The boys were
singing again; they loved the sun and loathed the rain. On the nippy nights of wintera superb
season in Northern Rhodesiathey all huddled up in blankets in one of the huts with a brazier
glowing in their midst. Uncle Luke had once gone out in the morning to rouse them and found the
hut grey with fumes, and mounds of nearly asphyxiated Africans on the floor.
Morny walked around the town and relaxed for an hour at the hairdressers, where the two
assistants admitted to copying their styles from the English magazines. Singana was well abreast
of the times in almost everything. Modernness is an adjunct to prosperity, which was doubtless
why Grant infused various projects with older, more rooted qualities. Morny comprehended the
side of him which regarded as anathema the distorted growth of boom towns in the bush.
She was beginning to feel for Singana that rather protective fondness which one has for the
English provincial town where one was born. Yet there was nothing old here except the ageless
hills and the great redwoods. It came to her suddenly, heartbreakingly, that she could not continue
here indefinitely. The only way to live down unrequited love was to put distance between oneself
and the object of it. Where to go, how to start again among strangers with no Uncle Luke to
smooth her path, were at the moment unanswerable questions.
It was a day of rejoicing for Uncle Luke, for tomorrow he would get up and take a turn or two
in his beloved garden. He was disposed to be charitable, even to Ian Templeton.
Though I never knew a man so consistently engrossed with himself, he remarked drily, over
tea.
Isnt complete restraint rather a lot to expect from someone who has despaired and been
reprieved? she said. Ian isnt self-importantonly so relieved that he cant stop thinking what
a wonderful place the world is for him and Christine.
You make excuses for everyone ... nearly everyone. The final, qualifying words were added
with the hint of a grin. I dare say youll be writing out a paragraph about this young man for next
Fridays News.
It did occur to me, she confessed. Mr. Malony would like it, and if Ian was described as
Mrs. Bartletts brother, shed be mollified, too. At the same time we might announce his marriage
to the daughter of the Limbusi bank manager. Seeing that the paper sells there as well, it would be
a gesture. Its not a bad idea to publicise even the tiniest links between the two towns.
Dear me, he said. So you think that working for a few hours on the News entitles you to
dictate policy. Write your paragraph, thennot more than three inchesand Ill see that it gets
in. Ill go down to the office on Tuesday.

Well have Dr. Frost in again before thenoh, yes, we will, as he made to protest. Bother
the paper; its had altogether too much attention. What does it matter if its a day or so late!
Morny, my dear, you have no reverence for the great traditions of the Press. The whole of
Singana would be shaken to the marrow if the News were missing from Fridays breakfast table.
Ill tell you something, he tacked on confidentially. While Ive been lounging here viewing the
monotonous shapes of the trees outside, Ive been turning over a new venture in my mind. If I can
get the backingand Im fairly sure I canIm going to start a weekly supplement which would
sell throughout both Rhodesias. You know the type of thinga separate newspaper without news.
A story or two, book reviews, features on everyday psychology, gardening and housewifery
reading matter for all the family. It should be a moderate success, and thats about all you can
hope for with a limited white population. Theres a need for it, though, and the population is
steadily increasing.
Where will you get the material?
From England, chiefly. Domestic and gardening articles would have to be local, and Id do the
book reviews myself. The costs shouldnt be excessive.
It sounds good, but youd definitely have to increase your staff.
Quite. This has always been a latent ambition of mine, but inaction has stirred it up into a
pressing one. When you want anything badly enough, Morny, there are ways and means of
achieving it.
A sentiment which she had heard him express so often that now she scarcely noticed it. But
while she was dressing in candy-stripe silk for dinner at the club it came back to her, and she
permitted her thoughts to wander among her own modest aspirations of a couple of months ago: to
share Uncle Lukes house and to be in a salaried post, that was all. She had attained both, and
they were not enough. Yet a man of Uncle Lukes age still had worlds to conquer. It just happened
that she had no yearnings beyond those for the ordinary womans lot, and if that were denied her
she was a failure. Though honesty compelled the admission that a good teacher is never a failure.
Nevertheless, her face, when she bent nearer to the mirror to apply cosmetics, had a bleak,
spiritless appearance.
Ian and Mr. Reid arrived together. Mr. Reid had dropped in for a chat with Luke, but he
gallantly complimented Morny on her dress and lifted a knowing brow at Ian.
We havent seen you since the game hunt, said Uncle Luke cheerfully from his pillows, but I

read your account of it. Seems to have been exhilarating in spots.

Mr. Reid replied in his stilted style. We had one or two splendid days. Having women with us
was somewhat restricting, but after all the trip was planned for Miss Ashley. She has a
remarkably cool head in danger. When she got her lion she was with Mr. Randall and a bearer.
Mr. Randall said she stood calmly, took aim and got the beast squarely with her first shot. He was
close by with a rifle, of course.
Uncle Luke shrugged good-humoredly. Some can and some cant. That young woman just
hasnt any nerves. Wasnt she excited after the kill?
A bit. She got annoyed because Mr. Randall wouldnt pose for a photograph with her and the
lion, but he said the animal was all hers. Mr. Reid coughed discreetly. I shouldnt gossip, but
Mrs. Malcolm told me privately that Miss Ashley talks as if she were going to settle in Singana
marriage, you know.
No, said Uncle Luke firmly, you shouldnt gossip, Reid. Well, Morny, you and Ian had
better run along. Have a good time, but dont stay out too late.
For Ian, the dinner was in the nature of a celebration, and an expression of gratitude. He was
fresh from his day with Christine and not far below the stars. They dined early and danced
several times, but in spite of wide, mosquito-proofed windows the atmosphere became more and
more oppressive and smoky. They talked on the terrace fora while, then Morny suggested going
home, and she went to the rest room for her short white cape.
It had not been a conspicuously enjoyable evening. When ones own mood is depressed
anothers joy is apt to rasp. Morny was not given to self-pity, but it did strike her as rather hard
that she was not even allowed to take pleasure in her work; the least of us are given that.
She came through to the vestibule and halted abruptly. Ian was standing in the porch, facing the
night, but much nearer stood a group of men, and one of them was Grant. Normally the habit of
extreme courtesy was so strong in him that he would not have hesitated to break away from the
others and escort her even the few yards to Ians side. Tonight, though he must have seen her, he
went on talking. Obviously he had merely called in for a nightcap and would soon be away again.
To Morny, her involuntary pause in the vestibule was sharp and significant. It was a pleading, a
capitulation which Grant entirely ignored. When she passed the group he nodded as if she were
some distant acquaintance. The slight inclination of his head, the closed, aquiline features and the
eyes which scarcely acknowledged her presence, were indicative of finality. Both the stormy and
friendly phases of their relationship were over, and from now on to Grant she was Luke
Penroses niece, nothing more. As Grant himself would trenchantly have phrased it: she had asked

for it!

CHAPTER NINETEEN
UNCLE LUKE did not shift far from the veranda next day. He had a grand time drawing up a layout
for his proposed supplement, and from various publications in his possession he compiled a long
list of potential advertisers and subscribers. When this brain-child of his came to maturity he
would call it Week-end Reading, and if the response from advertisers and the public were only
half what he expected, a condensed novel would eventually take the place of short fiction. He
consented to go to bed at six, happily tired but hungry enough to remain awake till after supper.
On Monday, Dr. Frost pronounced him fit, and at mid-morning on Tuesday, Clement drove his
chief to the News building. Gradually, thereafter, both house and office slipped into their former
routine.
Mrs. Bartletts attitude to Morny had altered slightly. It was no less strict and opposed to
youthful initiative, but the smooth, viperish hostility became toned down into an outmoded
sarcasm which had as its butt Mornys inexperience in teaching and newness to Africa. When
Mrs. Bartlett launched her sallies the children dutifully laughed and the womans thin mouth
curled. Mrs. Bartlett did not realize how wasted were her innuendoes. Malice and satire passed
over Morny like a breeze, and if her slender influence with the children was threatened she hardly
cared. She taught conscientiously, gave herself up to it, in fact, but her heart was so cold and dead
as to be impregnable.
Uncle Luke mentioned, with a cool carelessness which hid concern, that if she found
schoolteaching not so much to her taste as she had anticipated, there was still time to change her
profession. Soon, there would be room for her in the News offices, and plenty for her to do there
if she were so minded. Morny smiled at him and offered no reply.
Oddly, an air of benign slackness hung over the newspaper building during that week. It was as
though the demons of last weeks unrest had worn themselves out. Luke Penrose was able to
potter around the flat-bed rotary press and turn out his scheme in print. When the plan was
complete down to the last comma he would pull strings to convene a meeting of the Mine
Syndicate on the matter of finance. Pulling strings was a debate with Grant, though to be sure
Grant was much less accessible these days, and he wouldnt wait much longer before departing
for Salisbury.
There was talk of engineering troubles at the mine, faults which were being remedied under
Grants supervision without slowing down production. These upsets always came in the summer,
when tempers were least competent to endure them. Last year a trainload of ore had been derailed

on one of the mountain bends, and the year before, a pit floor had caved in and buried two
laborers. In adversity Grant always became grim and determined, but his present grimness and
determination hardly concealed an extraordinary irascibility, an explosive quality which would
take very little to touch it off. Luke was cautiously of the opinion that his own ideas for expansion
had better be shelved till Grant came back in mellower mood from his holiday.
On Friday afternoon Luke returned to his office at three-thirty to go through the proof of a
booklet which was to be issued by the sports club. He read and corrected mechanically, for it was
dry stuff, and he was thinking that tomorrow he might get a game of bowls and take someone home
to dinner. Entertaining kept a woman occupied. Pity he hadnt insisted on Mornys giving a party
for young people weeks ago, when he had first suggested it. Parties made friendships, and people
calling in at all hours kept a girl on her toes and reduced her opportunities for introspection. The
fact was that the young folk of Singana were preponderantly male, and a girls only chance of real
fun was to pick on one particular partner and stick to him, as Morny had picked on Ian. Ian had
been an unfortunate choice, though.
Uncle Luke turned a page and yawned. Hed wager that no one would ever peruse these hoary
rules and regulations; Reid must have copied them from the Doomsday Book.
A door crashed and he raised his head, displeased at so violent a sound on this most peaceful
afternoon. Then through the open doorway into his office strode Grant. Uncle Luke laid down his
pencil, took off his glasses and placed them with care beside the proof on his blotter. He felt like
an unarmed warrior, but without the warriors keen sense of improvisation.
Grants breathing was audible, heavy but not fast. His face was dark, his nostrils faintly dilated
and pale, probably with the tremendous control he was imposing upon himself. Luke recalled his
own reflections about touching off an explosive, and he spoke swiftly, but mildly.
Hello, Grant. I telephoned your office just before lunch and they told me you were still tied up
at the mine. No fresh trouble, is there?
No, impatiently. We had everything fixed an hour ago
Glad to hear that. Youve put in most of your time there lately.
Luke, said Grant Wheres Morny?
Uncle Luke was momentarily nonplussed. It was quite a leap from the mine to his niece.
Morny? I dont really know.

Doesnt she usually come to town with you on Friday afternoon?

She did come with me. He lay back in his chair, his glance both reflective and bewildered.
She gives orders for our supplies and does other shopping. Is something wrong?
Where can I find her?
Shes somewhere near. Is my car outside?
I didnt notice. Grant took a pace to the window and looked out. Its gone. Has she taken it?
Probably.
A queer silence hung in the room. Grant made a few caged strides with his hands deep in his
pockets and his chin at a formidable angle. He stopped suddenly.
Where would she have gonehome?
I doubt it. Shell have to be here again in half an hour. I expect shes gone for a run along the
Limbusi road, or down by the lake. She may even have school business somewhere; I never pry.
Sit down Grant. Youre all wires.
With a half-savage movement Grant twisted away from the desk. Oh, for Gods sake, Luke!
he exclaimed irritably. Nearly a minute passed before he said more quietly. Im sorry. I feel like
hell.
I gathered that, remarked Uncle Luke calmly. If something has made you annoyed with
Morny I think it would be wiser for you to cool off before seeing her. How about coming over this
evening?
Grant made no sign of having heard. He went back to the window and watched the road,
viciously scratched a match to light his cigarette and stood there, vibrating.
Uncle Luke put away his proof and folded his glasses into their case. He went off to wash his
hands and stared thoughtfully at himself in the mirror over the basin. For once in his life, he, Luke
Penrose, was totally at a loss over a human being whom he had flattered himself he knew fairly
well. Grant had put in too many hours at the mine without rest; that could be the only explanation
of such a departure from his customary suave charm. How to deal with him was the problem.
Back in his office he tucked some papers into his briefcase, and when he had fastened the straps

and snapped the lock, he said, Mornys my niece, Grant. I wish youd tell me whats happened.
Grant swung round. And I wish to heaven you wouldnt let her wander off alone in a car, he
said furiously. This isnt the English countryside with a house every half mile; she might be
stranded anywhere. Youve never tried to prevent her taking risks!
Youve accused me of that before, Uncle Luke heard himself responding, and I told you then
that I dont believe in wrapping young things in cotton wool. Mornys not a fool, and in the long
run shell come out no worse off than anyone else. He broke off, and tacked on the slight
emphasis, If Id been the cosseting kind of uncle shed have no spirit or independence. Possibly
youd like her better if she were more tractable.
What do you mean by that?
Nothing deep. Theres something about each of you that gets under the skin of the other, but
youre domineering about it, Grantand she couldnt be. You know, he made a complication of
poking out the bowl of his pipe, there are some things a woman will take from only one man.
Being mastered is one of them.
The silence this time had the hot prickle of electricity. Uncle Luke had never taken so long to
clean his pipe and refill it. In the end, from the sheer necessity to terminate his own discomfort, he
spoke again.
I shouldnt be surprised, he said in his ruminative fashion, if its also true that a man feels a
strong inclination to dominate with only one woman. Their situations are opposed, though. A
woman wouldnt stand it without first suspecting she was loved; thats only natural, dont you
think? Im just an old bachelor, but it has often occurred to me...
Conscious that he was now addressing himself, Luke Penrose shrugged and set a flame to his
pipe. He puffed a cloud, then got up and stood where Grant had stood, near the window. Presently
a serene smile came to his lips as he smoked.
Morny, meanwhile, was on her way back from the lake. Earlier she had ordered the household
stores and bought a couple of books. She had come from the bookshop into the blazing warmth of
the main street, and suddenly felt the atmosphere of Singana to be overpowering in its blend of the
ultra-modern and the primitive. She had sidestepped two African women wearing a strip of doth
apiece, greeted, in passing, the smartly attired doctors wife, and slipped into the driving seat of
Uncle Lukes tourer. She had to get away from the town.
The lake, in its wooded green bowl with the folds of the hills above, had soothed her. She had

read for a while under a tree, had drowsed wistfully over the blue water with its edge of greyish
beach, and watched a tiny fishing boat with a patched kaffir doth sail and a mast flying a scrap of
brick-red material which was meant to be a brave little flag. The view from the club end of the
lake had the mountains to the left and the houses to the right. With binoculars she could have seen
Bernices house or Minona, three miles away.
She had had the great expanse of grass at the back of the diving platforms almost to herself.
Some piccanins were playing with a limp football, and a nanny in charge of two tumbling white
children went for a quick swim, but none of them ventured near Morny. A snake had finally sent
her back to the car: a long, brown thing with a yellow pattern down its sinuous spine. Petrified,
she had followed its writhing course till it became obvious that it had no interest in the few human
beings hereabouts, and then, recalling a groundless assertion that snakes hunt in twos, she had
grabbed up her book and fled.
There was still plenty of time before she need go to the News offices, so she drove slowly by a
roundabout route through a sisal plantation and cotton fields thickly splodged with white bolls.
The lane emerged on to the road below the south end of the town. Morny turned left, ran smoothly
into the busy main street and stopped at Uncle Lukes usual parking place.
She opened the car door, swung out her feet and discovered herself standing in the middle of the
road, staring up into a taut brown face and frightening green eyes. For a long moment she was so
completely unnerved that the buildings rocked about her and the road heaved. Then she felt his
hand upon her arm and knew that it really was Grant, that only his face was different.
Morny, I must talk to you, he said in a voice that had an element of strain. We can have
privacy here. Well go to Minona.
But I cant go there. Its getting late, and my uncle...
Hell understand. Ive seen him. Hes probably watching us at this moment. Leave his car here
and come over to mine.
Id ... really rather not, Grant. She was trembling, afraid to look up again into those leaping
eyes. Cant we talk in Uncle Lukes office?
No! he said sharply. We re going to Minona at onceand for pitys sake remember that
everyone in this street knows us.
As if it had been admirably arranged to occur at that moment, a car rolled by and the driver
poked his head out in astonishment He only said, Why, hello, Grant, but patently he was

wondering why the deuce such a man of sense had chosen the centre of a busy highway for a chat
with Miss Blake.
Morny dipped her head and walked with Grant to the cream car. As it moved away from the
kerb she saw Uncle Luke wave from his window. Tremulously, she thought, What is this! Why
should I submit to anything more from Grant? But she said nothing because he was driving so fast
that she darent divert his attention from the road. Hawk-faced behind the wheel, his mouth tight
and the jaw muscle tense with the clenching of his teeth, he was a terrifying stranger.
Morny sat shrunk into her corner. She saw, without registering, that they were speeding past
Uncle Lukes house and running out on to the earth road; she felt the swerve into the private lane
to Minona and the slowing of the car as it entered the gravel drive to draw in at the foot of the
steps which led up to the roomy veranda.
The car had stopped, but the beating noise went onthe beating of Mornys heart sounding in
her ears.

CHAPTER TWENTY
GRANT came round to open her door but, contrary to his custom, he made no attempt to touch her.
She mounted the steps at his side and paused.
Grant, her tones were oddly thin and uneven, dont make me go in. Tell me here.
If you wish, he said abruptly. He pulled a torn half-sheet of the News from his pocket, spread
it and put it into her hand. Ive been at the mine since early this morningdidnt see the paper
till I was in my office late this afternoon. Is it true what it says therethat Templeton is going to
marry a woman named Christine Levitt?
Yes, its quite true.
Did he put the announcement in the paper?
No, I did.
You knew about this person days ago?
Weeks ago, she said.
Then why the devil... The sentence snapped off. Morny, how did all this come about?
Templeton accepting your assistance with Malony, marrying some other womanit doesnt make
sense!
It makes perfect sense, she replied. I put in a word for him with Mr. Malony, and he s in
love with Christine Levitt. This paragraph points the happy ending.
Where do you come in? he demanded brusquely.
Ive told you...
Why did you help him?
Why does one help another? she flashed back. He wasnt acquainted with Mr. Malony and I
was. Mr. Malony wanted a partner and Ian was simply aching for a settled homeall I did was

bring them together, but unfortunately it had to be kept secret, so there were misunderstandings.
Malony thought you were going to marry Templeton!
And so did you, she said, her head low.
What had I to go on? He let out a short, raging breath. Why did you let me think you were in
love with the fellow ... or were you really in love with him?
No, I wasnt, she said wearily. We were friends, then after a while he told me about
Christine. Creasing the piece of newspaper between her fingers, she went on to explain Ians
dilemma and the solution which lay in Mr. Malonys accepting him as a partner in the plantation.
It didnt come to me at once or Id have acted sooner, without seeing Christine.
You speak as though you know the woman.
I met her in Limbusithe Saturday you saw me there with Ian.
He was big and close. So that was it. You might have been frank that Sunday morning and
saved us both a bit of anguish.
It wasnt my secret. Besides, why should I detract from your delight in baiting me about Ian?
You said whatever came into your head and didnt mind how hurtful you were. Her mouth
quivered. I dont know why you brought me here, Grant. I wish you hadnt. All this cant
possibly do us any good.
Morny, a thickness overlaid his usually clipped tones, you once admitted to being in love
and I took the man to be Templeton. I didnt really believe it because you and he just didnt line
up together, but I was afraidhorribly afraidthat you felt he needed the strength you could give
him, and were deceiving yourself. That was why I never let slip an opportunity of being sarcastic
at his expense.
Bitterly she answered, Well, I hope you had pleasure out of it!
Darling, dont.
She couldnt have heard him correctly, of course. It was being here so near to him that mixed
her up and made the impossible somehow likely. With little needles stabbing at her fingertips she
held the piece of paper flat, and to pass the moment till she could speak naturally she looked
down at the print. She read a heading, Bernice Ashley Leaves Town, and got through the first

brief paragraph before absorbing the fact that Bernice, together with her two boats, had gone
south to compete in speedboat trials.
Somewhat ungently, the paper was taken from her, crushed into a ball and tossed into the seat
of one of the veranda chairs. She turned and looked at him.
I never have believed that only one of two people can be in love, he said through his teeth.
Maybe youre still too unawakened to realize it yet, or maybe hating me was an unconscious
revolt against falling in love with mebut youre destined for it, Morny, so its no use fighting
any longer. I havent the patience to wait!
What are you saying?
You know damn well what Im saying! I love you. I think Ive loved you from the beginning,
but for a time I wouldnt let myself dwell on it because it was obvious that nothing so soulwrenching was happening to you. I could have hung on and tried to be content for a while with a
maturing friendship if Templeton hadnt started clinging to you.
But... but you never gave me the least inkling...
What was I supposed to docompete with the forestry man! He was actually glaring and
showing the clamped edges of white teeth. And anyway, whats the use of making love to a
woman who hasnt even reached the stage where she can accept a spot of help sometimes? He
plucked at the short sleeve of her blue linen frock. Come indoors, Morny. Ive got to make you
see this clearly.
But she remained stiffly unresponsive at one side of the veranda pillar, staring down past the
lawns and flowers over the wild palms and bushes to the distant, silvery lake.
I prefer to stay out here, she said. Im sorry if I seem ungrateful, but youll agree that its
rather sudden. As a matter of fact, she shivered, Id like to postpone this talk till tomorrow.
Ive just told you I love you, he said abruptly. Doesnt that mean anything?
Her face was pale and small as she answered, Are you capable of loving two women at one
time, Grantor am I the runner-up now that Bernice has gone? How soon can I expect a diamond
bracelet from your mothers collection?
She heard him take a savage breath, and her nerves contracted. She thought he would shake her
as he had shaken her that night in this garden, but with more violence. It seemed that they must

both be on the brink of catastrophe.

Then he said indistinctly over her shoulder, Where did you hear about that?
From Mrs. Frost on the mountainside, that ill-fated Sunday morning.
Was that why you were so poisonous about my bringing you here to dress the graze on your
head? He turned her to face him. Was it?
Pink showed in her cheeks, and her lashes were wet. He took her suddenly into his aims and
held her tightly with his cheek against her hair.
Do we have to bring Bernice into it now? he murmured. The very thought of her makes me
tired.
I loathe her, came the muffled confession.
That makes two of us, though she did do her best for Singana. He drew back his head. Look
at me, Morny. I want to be certain I wasnt mistaken about what I saw in your eyes just now.
They looked, and knew. He kissed her as a man kisses only one woman, and when the long,
impassioned embrace was over he laid his lips to her eyelids and to the hollow in her throat; and
lastly, he dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose. Youre a lunatic, Morny Blake, he said
teasingly, but now its over Im not sorry you were jealousthough your jealousy must have
been an insipid thing beside mine. Till you came to Singana I gave almost no thought to this manwoman business. I laughed at you for being romantic, heaven help me, because I was under the
impression that I could manage love as I managed everything else; I made no allowances at all for
the fact that love cant reason.
You were so quick to get horrid.
Uncertainty plays the deuce with a man, and you were completely obstructive. Those small
claws of yours!
She gave a trembling little laugh. They were blunt till I knew you. I tried so hard not to fall in
love with you. I said beastly things about you to Uncle Luke...
Which he refused to believe!
Dont preen. Uncle Luke never believes ill of anyonebut he does consider you a rather

marvellous person. And, Grant, the smoky, grey-blue eyes were raised to him, the red lips
parted and her voice shook, so do I.
Neither was free to speak for several minutes after that. When Grant released her he said,
Lets go inside for a drink. And I think Id better telephone your uncle. I had him worried this
afternoon.
Worried? Why?
He pushed open the french window for her to enter. The moment I saw that piece about
Templeton I shot out of my office and into Lukes. I ought to have taken a breather first.
Poor Uncle Luke! Im glad I wasnt there.
So am I ... now. What will you haveMartini?
She stood in the centre of the enormous lounge watching him shyly, while a consciousness of
the rooms grace seeped into her being. It was so cool, so spacious, so surprising in its touches of
warmth and beauty. She thought, One day Ill live here, and color flamed up from her neck and
she hastily turned her back to the light.
He gave her the drink and tapped his glass to hers. To you, darling, he said softly.
Noto us!
Same thing, he said. I wouldnt want to bother with life any more if you werent in it. Tip it
up!
The liquor warmed her throat, the glance he rested upon her quickened her already hammering
pulses. The transition from heartbreak to ecstasy had been almost too swift. She placed her glass
beside his and sat down in a corner of the chesterfield.
Grant ... about Bernice.
He looked down at her, his mouth quizzical. She was quite a thorn, wasnt she? While she was
around I used to think back to the night you came here to dinner and Luke asked me to invite her to
Singana. Remember how nonchalantly I agreed to write to her?
You said she was very attractive.

At first acquaintance Bernice was attractive. She wore clothes well, and on her own subject
she could converse intelligently and without boasting, which is an achievement. In my letter to her
I made the fatal error of reminding her that we had met in Bulawayo. I dont relish admitting this
to my future wife, but Im rather afraid she concluded that Id been smitten by her straw curls and
flat blue eyes. That aspect didnt occur to me when I asked her to race for the Cup. I did it for the
benefit of the town.
Was it necessary to allow her the use of the mine accountants house, so near to your own?
She could have gone to the hotel.
I gave it no thought. Reid suggested the house, and the accountant eagerly rushed in the last of
his furniture, so I lent the servants. Also, to my later regret, I arranged a dinner at which the
boating enthusiasts could welcome her. You know, Morny, he hitched his trousers and lowered
himself to the chesterfield beside her, over some things Im obtuseor perhaps in this case I
was merely too indifferent to heed the signs.
They were appallingly patent to everyone else!
You might have warned me. He grinned. Women who get around among the sporting type of
men, as Bernice does, develop a masculine comradeliness. I didnt care for it, but she was
Singanas guest and in a way I was her host. It was only for a fortnightso I imagined.
But you asked her to stay on!
I certainly didnt. During the celebrations on the night of the regatta, Reid suggested a
mountain-climb. Bernice had made a magnificent showing on the lake, you wont deny, and it
seemed only fair that I should back up Reids gestureso I made another error and mentioned the
possibility of a minor game hunt. Instantly she was determined to stay and do both.
Morny looked at him squarely. I believe you liked having her about.
You do? he said tersely. I dare say you base that little declaration on the same hellish
Sunday morning. What did Mrs. Frost tell you, by the way?
Morny hesitated. She said that the Saturday had been Bernices birthday, and she and Dr.
Frost had attended a party youd given...
She didnt bother to inform you that theyand everyone elsewere invited at the last minute
by telephone? His hand closed over her wrist. You were at the bottom of it, Morny. When I
called to take you to Limbusi I looked forward to us having a great day there together. Luke said

you and Templeton had gone picnicking and I was fed up, but I had to go on and do some business
in Limbusi. I hadnt been in the town ten minutes before I saw you two walking together. All
through lunchI had it at the house of one of the Limbusi Mine directorsI was smouldering...
Grant, we didnt set out to tour the town!
How was I to know that! You didnt do badly, anyway, because I saw you again, outside
Limbusi. The two-seater was parked among the brash and you and he were away on the hill,
mooning among the rock-paintings.
She laughed faintly, helplessly. Isnt it silly? Ian hardly noticed those paintings because hed
had a gruelling morning with Christine, and I was wishing you were there to explain about them.
And you...
It wasnt in the least funny! He spoke roughly, tensed his grip of her wrist till she felt the dig
of his finger, nails. Im no less gifted with imagination than any other man. I knew nothing about
this Christine, and it was the perfect background for lovemaking. Youve got to appreciate how I
felt or youll never understand what came afterwards. Late that afternoon Bernice came here to
Minona and told me it was her birthdaya miserable one because the post hadnt come through
from Bulawayo so she hadnt had a single good wish from anyone. I didnt much care for solitude
just then, so I got her to telephone a few people for dinner that evening.
He stopped and withdrew his hand from Mornys. His features were stern, his mouth straight
and thin with remembered bitterness. The episode of the bracelet happened accidentally, before
the Frosts arrived. While we were having cocktails someone asked to see an Egyptian dagger
which I keep with the more valuable pieces in the lowest drawer of the cabinet over there. I
pulled the drawer right out and put it on a table, and Bernice pounced on the bracelet. I didnt pay
much attention because we were all more interested in the dagger. The drawer was back and
locked up before Bernice gleefully displayed the bracelet on her arm. It went down well as a
joke, and I didnt somehow feel that it was importantI had other things bothering me. When she
pleaded to be allowed to wear it for the evening I merely nodded.
Did she ... keep it?
No. Nor did I. I couldnt bear you to have it after that, so I sent it to the hospital and told them
to sell it and use the proceeds for the native wards.
A pause lengthened between them. A canary piped with poignant sweetness, then appeared
suddenly in the French doorway. It thrilled again, grew scared of the swollen sound trapped in the
room and flew away. Morny turned to Grant.

I had nightmares over that bracelet, she said quietly. Perhaps living with Uncle Luke has
made me a bit old-fashioned in some ways, and I couldnt tolerate your giving Bernice jewellery,
particularly that which had belonged to your mother. You see, although I d accepted that you gave
her things and perhaps even kissed her sometimes, the idea of your marrying her was too
fantastic.
I should hope so! Bernice has about as much character as her own speedboats ... and Id guess
that shes just as kissableI had no urge to experiment. After that week-end I came to regard her
as a kind of hoodoo.
But you went with her on the game hunt.
He pushed out his legs and crossed them. Think back, my sweet. You couldnt endure me, then
you tendered a backhand apology and on top of that Malony gave out that you were going to marry
Templetonwhich you didnt refute. I had to get away, and tracking down beasts is physically
exhausting. Incidentally, while we were camping Bernice discovered that I wasnt by any means
consistently charmingI was even rude enough to suggest that shed now had enough of Northern
Rhodesia and should do splendidly in the southern speedboat trials.
Oh, Grant, she said weakly, Im an awful fool.
He slid an arm round her. So you are, my darling, but youre going to be a beautiful lover. Ill
see that you atone!
A little later she asked, When are you leaving for Salisbury?
As soon as youre ready, he said equably. There ll be the detail of getting married to attend
to first, of course. We wont honeymoon at the ranchonly stop there long enough for you to look
round the place. I fancy the coast, dont you?
But Grant, you dont get married the minute you know youre in love!
What do you do, then?
She was scarlet, and he was laughing at her and holding her chin so that there was no avoiding
the sparkling amusement in his glance. A melting love encompassed her heart, became so
apparent in those expressive eyes that his smile died.
I want you so very much, Morny. We want each other. Thats true, isnt it?

Yes, she whispered.

So it would be a waste of time not to get married right away, wouldnt it?
Yes.
Very well. Lets be practical for ten minutes. Ill show you the parts of the house you havent
seen yet, and you shall criticize my taste. You can make any alterations you please.
He had just drawn her to her feet when the telephone rang.
Ill bet thats Luke, he said. I ought to have rang him first.
Together they entered the hall, and Grant took up the receiver. Morny watched him smilingly
and with pride, caught one side of the conversation.
Hello, Luke? ... Yes, we re both here. Mornys staying to dinner, but well be along about
nine ... Some news for you Luke. We re getting married ... You might sound surprised; it doesnt
happen every day ... The school? Grant stared hard at Morny while he listened and presently he
said, Shes not going back there; well arrange something ... Thanks, Luke. A trifle mockingly
Grant held out the telephone to Morny. Youre next.
Her hand shook and her voice was not too steady. This is Morny, Uncle Luke.
His tones were affectionate and unhurried. Well, my dear, are you happy?
So very happy. Bless you for bringing me to Rhodesia.
Ive had doubts a few times, but theyre over now. I shall enjoy having Grant for a nephew-inlaw. He chuckled. Between us well get him to finance Week-end Reading.
Well try. Will you tell Joe youll be there alone for dinner?
Ive told him alreadyI had a hunch. See you later, Morny.
Yes. Goodbye.
From behind her Grant grasped the telephone and dropped it into place. He held her shoulders
and bent to touch his lips to her neck. Morny leaned against him, this passionate, tender man who

was to be her husband, and knew a wildness of joy and a deep and vibrant gratitude. There was
nothing in the world she would not do for Grant!
THE END