it's a pity. But I have to do some business there first thing in
the morning, so it's as well to get there over-night."

"I thought you said you might be going up to the Wildschutsberg," said
Aletta, with a spice of mischief. "Isn't that rather a long way round?"

"It is rather. Only in the opposite direction. But I won't go that
way."

And then, the cart being inspanned, they exchanged farewells. The
handclasp between Colvin and Aletta was not one fraction more prolonged
than that which he exchanged with the other two girls--if anything
shorter. May, watching, could not but admit this, but did not know
whether to feel relieved or not.

"So that is `the only English girl'!" said Aletta to herself as they
drove off. "Old Tant' Plessis was both right and wrong. They are not
engaged, but still there is a sort of something between them, and that
something is all, or nearly all, on her side. She would not make him
happy, either--or be happy with him. She is pretty, very pretty, but
common. She is gusty-tempered, has no self-command, and would be
horribly jealous. No. She could never make him happy."

Those whom she had left, however, were at that very moment formulating
their opinions upon her, but aloud.

"What a nice girl Aletta has grown into!" Mrs Wenlock was saying.
"She used to be shy and awkward, and nothing to look at, before she went
away, and now she's so bright, and smart, and stylish, and almost
pretty. It's wonderful what her stay at Cape Town has done for her."

"I don't think she's pretty at all," said May decisively. "I call her
ugly."

"No, I'll be hanged if she's ugly," said Frank.

"No, indeed," agreed his mother; "look what pretty hair she has, and
pretty hands, and then her manner is so delightful. And there is such a
stylish look about her, too! Don't you agree with me, Mr Kershaw?"

"Yes; I do," was the reply, made as evenly as though the subject under
discussion had been Andrina or Condaas, or any other girl in the
district.

"Well, I think she's a horrid girl," persisted May. "Style, indeed?
What you call style, I call `side.' She puts on a kind of
condescending, talk-down-to-you sort of manner. These Dutch girls,"
with withering emphasis on the national adjective, "are that way. They
go away from home for a little and come back as stuck-up as they can be.
That one is too grand for anything--in her own estimation. A horrid,
stuck-up thing."

Colvin, listening, w