ned.

From such soarings, however, comes a descent, as abrupt as it is
profound, in this hard work-a-day world. John Ames sat bolt upright
with a start of dismay, for the clock opposite told its own tale. His
musings had carried him over some hours. It was nearly dark, and he was
due--almost overdue--at Inglefield's.

CHAPTER TEN.

THE IGNITING OF THE FLAME.

"That man's late again. He always is. Tom, don't ever ask him again.
He seems to treat me with studied rudeness."

Thus Mrs Inglefield, consulting her watch. She was an acid looking
person, who might once have been passable in aspect. Now the deepening
of her habitual frown was far from prepossessing.

"It's only on the stroke of seven," said Inglefield, shortly. "Give him
a little law, Annie. He'll be here directly. Perhaps some nigger
turned up at the last moment on particular business."

The suggestion was like throwing paraffin upon flames.

"That makes it worse," exploded the lady. "To keep me--to keep us--
waiting to suit the convenience of a few filthy blacks--"

"Well, give the chap a show," snapped Inglefield, not in the best of
humours himself. The while, Crosse, the cattle inspector, sat
profoundly pitying Inglefield, thinking, too, that the defaulter, when
he did come, was not going to enjoy his dinner overmuch.

"Hope I'm not late," said a voice in the doorway.

"Not a bit, Ames; at least, only two minutes, and that doesn't count,"
cried Inglefield, cordially, feeling very much "in opposition."

"Roll up, man, and have an appetiser, Crosse, you'll cut in?"

John Ames, ignoring the coldness of his hostess' greeting, noticed that
fully a quarter of an hour went by before they sat down to table. When
they did sit down the interior of the hut looked snug enough. The
bright lamp shed a cheerful glow upon the white napery and silver forks;
and pictures and knick-knacks upon the walls and about the room--or
rather, the hut, for such it was--rendered the place pleasant and
homelike, suggestive of anything but the wilds of savage Matabeleland.
Any remark, however, which he addressed to his hostess was met by a curt
monosyllable, she turning immediately to converse with Crosse, affably
voluble. It mattered nothing. He had only consented to come upon
Inglefield's urgent and repeated invitation, having experienced that
sample of behaviour before.

"What sort of a time did you have down in Cape Town, Ames?" said Crosse
presently