hich had so appealed to the humorous side
of both of them--the outspoken comments of the blunt old farmers and
their _vrouws_ as to Stephanus De la Rey marrying his eldest girl to an
Englishman, under the palliative circumstances, however, that perhaps a
rich Englishman was a better match than an impoverished Boer, after all;
of the hopeless efforts to convince many of them that Colvin was not the
Governor, merely because he had the right to prefix his name with "Sir";
of old Tant' Plessis and her conviction that the great Calvinus was a
greater man than even she had thought, since he had been able to leave
his grandson so much money; of Kenneth Kershaw, who while making a most
efficient "best man," had given rise to endless chaff to the effect that
he ought to be branded and ear-marked, lest at the last moment Mynheer
should marry _him_ to Aletta by mistake; of Frank Wenlock, who waxed so
exuberant amid all the festivities, that he came near starting a little
war of his own right in the midst of the convivialities; of Mynheer
Albertyn himself, who while congratulating the pair, and fingering
gratefully by far the biggest fee he had ever seen in the whole of his
professional career, had remarked drily, and not altogether jocosely,
that he vastly preferred starting a man on fresh terms in this life to
seeing him off into another; of the exceeding attractiveness in their
array of bridesmaids of Andrina and Condaas, and a bevy of girl
relatives pressed into the service for the occasion; of the absence of
May Wenlock, and the future before her and Kenneth.

This brought them down to serious matters and the fate of Adrian.

"Poor chap," Colvin was saying. "Honestly, I don't bear him the
slightest ill-feeling. I suppose I did come between you and him,
dearest, and if that is not enough to justify him in hating me worse
than Satan, will you tell me what is?"

Aletta pressed his arm lovingly and for a moment said nothing. Then:

"That is so like you, Colvin," she said. "You are generosity itself, my
darling. Yes, we can afford to think kindly of poor Adrian now. But,
oh Colvin--what if you find afterwards that I am not able to make you
happy? Remember, I did not know who you were. I thought you were here
among us to settle for life and farm."

"Would it have made any difference if you had known, Lady Kershaw?" he
asked quizzically, slipping an arm round her, and looking down into her
eyes.

"Not in my loving you,"