other stared.

"Oh, I see," she said. "But my name isn't Hesketh--it's Brandon. Mr
Hesketh is my uncle on my mother's side."

"Of course. But, as you most likely know, your uncle is a man of few
words, and, beyond mentioning the fact that you were coming, gave us no
further information. He didn't even tell us your name. Naturally I
didn't like to appear inquisitive."

"Naturally," assented the other; and again the laugh struggled in her
eyes, evoked by the recollection of the comical situation for which that
lack of inquisitiveness was responsible. "But now--as you have the
advantage of me--I have told you who I am, suppose you tell me who you
are."

There was a sweet, sunny frankness about this girl, an utter absence of
self-consciousness that made Dick stare. Did they grow many like her in
this strange, fascinating country, he wondered? As he told her his
identity a new interest came into her eyes, but wholly unsuspected by
himself.

"Ay, and is yon Dick Selmes?"

The interruption proceeded from the wielder of the duster, in the
further corner of the room.

"Elsie!" cried the girl, half horrified, half mirthful. "You are
forgetting yourself. You needn't be quite so familiar, at any rate."

"Eh! An' would we be makkin' a stranger of the laddie?" tranquilly
replied the irrepressible Scotswoman.

Dick burst into a hearty roar.

"Quite right, Elsie," he cried. "I believe we're going to be jolly good
friends, you and I."

This was a character, he decided--a howling joke. He was almost sorry
she was going back again directly, whereas when he had first heard the
announcement he had been anything but sorry. Then the sound of voices
outside told that the master of the place and the other guest had
returned.

Old Hesketh greeted his niece affectionately, but undemonstratively, as
was his way.

"This is Harley Greenoak," he said. "You may have heard of him."

The girl's face lit up with interest.

"I should think so," she said, as she put forth her hand. "Who hasn't?"

"Oh, about nine hundred million people, I suppose," tranquilly answered
the subject of this implied exordium. "I don't expect that leaves many
more in the world."

"Well, there's no one in South Africa who hasn't, at any rate," rejoined
the girl. And Dick Selmes, confound it, was half ashamed of a sneaking
satisfaction that Harley Greenoak's beard was rapidly turning grey.

"That you, Elsie?" said old Hesketh, shaking hand