ood name that," he answered, looking at the stately pile with renewed
interest. "But then, unfortunately, I have only just come into my `own
district' and haven't quite had time to `know' everything."

"Well then, this place is named after the mountain," she went on,
loftily ignoring the retort. "But the doubled word is too much of a
mouthful, so we cut it down, and call both just Sipazi. In fact so do
the natives themselves."

"I shall be delighted to make the acquaintance of its summit. When
shall we start?"

"Oh, not yet. When it's cooler. It doesn't take long to go up, and the
sunsets from there are simply indescribable."

Throughout dinner Edala had seemed quite outside of herself. She had
descanted volubly on all her favourite topics; had bantered, and argued,
and pretended to disagree for the sake of arguing again. Her father was
not a little astonished. He had never seen her as animated as this for
years--certainly not since she had been grown up. Elvesdon was amusing,
and talked well, but Thornhill would never have suspected him of being
able to draw Edala out of her shell as he had succeeded in doing.

Dinner was over at last, and an uncommonly good one it had been; so much
so as to move Elvesdon to congratulate his host on the excellence of his
cook.

"Oh, he's a coolie," answered Thornhill. "He's a great rascal, and was
kicked out of one of the hotels in Maritzburg for boozing. I take jolly
good care he gets no chance of that here, but he must have been bad if
they had to get rid of him, for he _can_ cook."

[Coolie: In Natal all natives of India, of whatever occupation or
profession, are so called. It is an absurd misnomer of course; about as
much so as to talk about a `Boer Judge' or a `Boer engineer'--but it
sticks, and always will.]

"By Jingo he can!" assented Elvesdon emphatically. "Those sasaatjes
were simply divine."

"Mr Elvesdon clearly appreciates good `skoff'," said Edala. "Great
minds skip together, for so do I."

"I appreciate good everything, I believe," he answered as they got up,
"especially good singing. Won't you give us a song, Miss Thornhill? I
haven't heard you yet."

"Immediately after dinner? Why, I should positively croak. No, that's
no time for vocal exercise. To-night perhaps--you will stay the night,
won't you? Well, so long. I am going to take it easy in private life
until it gets cooler. Meanwhile I'll leave you to exchange _official_
news,"