So, thought I to myself, she loves that old scamp and she—­doesn’t love the doctor.  There will be more trouble as sure as five and two are seven.  All we wanted was a woman to make the pot boil over.

Then I opened the gate and took a travelling bag from her hand with my politest bow.

“My name is Quatermain and that of my friend Anscombe.  We are staying here, you know,” I said rather awkwardly.

“Indeed,” she answered with a delightful smile, “what a very strange place to choose to stay in.”

“It is a beautiful house,” I remarked.

“Not bad, although I designed it, more or less.  But I was alluding to its inhabitants.”

This finished me, and I am sure she felt that I could think of nothing nice to say about those inhabitants, for I heard her sigh.  We walked side by side up the rose-fringed path and presently arrived at the stoep, where Anscombe, whose hair I had cut very nicely on the previous day, was watching us from his long chair.  They looked at each other, and I saw both of them colour a little, out of mere foolishness, I suppose.

“Anscombe,” I said, “this is—­” and I paused, not being quite certain whether she also was called Marnham.  “Heda Marnham,” she interrupted.

“Yes—­Miss Heda Marnham, and this is the Honourable Maurice Anscombe.”

“Forgive me for not rising, Miss Marnham,” said Anscombe in his pleasant voice (by the way hers was pleasant too, full and rather low, with just a suggestion of something foreign about it).  “A shot through the foot prevents me at present.”

“Who shot you?” she asked quickly.

“Oh! only a Kaffir.”

“I am so sorry, I hope you will get well soon.  Forgive me now, I must go to look for my father.”

“She is uncommonly pretty,” remarked Anscombe, “and a lady into the bargain.  In reflecting on old Marnham’s sins we must put it to his credit that he has produced a charming daughter.”

“Too pretty and charming by half,” I grunted.

“Perhaps Dr. Rodd is of the same way of thinking.  Great shame that such a girl should be handed over to a medical scoundrel like Dr. Rodd.  I wonder if she cares for him?”

“Just about as much as a canary cares for a tom-cat.  I have found that out already.”

“Really, Quatermain, you are admirable.  I never knew anyone who could make a better use of the briefest opportunity.”

Then we were silent, waiting, not without a certain impatience, for the return of Miss Heda.  She did return with surprising quickness considering that she had found time to search for her parent, to change into a clean white dress, and to pin a single hibiscus flower on to her bodice which gave just the touch of colour that was necessary to complete her costume.

“I can’t find my father,” she said, “but the boys say he has gone out riding.  I can’t find anybody.  When you have been summoned from a long way off and travelled post-haste, rather to your own inconvenience, it is amusing, isn’t it?”