The dog's mistress sat higher up, under the shelving rock, her face bent
over a volume of plays upon her knee. As Gregory mounted the stones she
started violently and looked up; then resumed her book.
"I hope I am not troubling you," said Gregory as he reached her side. "If
I am I will go away. I just--"
"No; you may stay."
"I fear I startled you."
"Yes; your step was firmer than it generally is. I thought it was that of
some one else."
"Who could it be but me?" asked Gregory, seating himself on a stone at her
feet.
"Do you suppose you are the only man who would find anything to attract him
to this kopje?"
"Oh, no," said Gregory.
He was not going to argue that point with her, nor any other; but no old
Boer was likely to take the trouble of climbing the kopje, and who else was
there?
She continued the study of her book.
"Miss Lyndall," he said at last, "I don't know why it is you never talk to
me."
"We had a long conversation yesterday," she said without looking up.
"Yes; but you ask me questions about sheep and oxen. I don't call that
talking. You used to talk to Waldo, now," he said, in an aggrieved tone of
voice. "I've heard you when I came in, and then you've just left off. You
treated me like that from the first day; and you couldn't tell from just
looking at me that I couldn't talk about the things you like.
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