One day, writing by the open window of her bedroom, she heard two men talking in the hotel verandah. One was a solicitor whom she had met, called Cornwall, and a remark of his riveted her attention.

"Brain and Hunt are after it. They’ll give five hundred, but de Windt doesn’t seem inclined to sell, though he needs money to get up North."

"I’ll go a hundred better," said the other man firmly. "It’s a good farm and I’d like it myself. Try him with that."

"Right. I’ll try him."

Vivienne sat transfixed. The whole story rushed back to her mind and with it the remembrance of her plan to outdo the rogues by buying the farm herself. She had scorned the idea then, and despised herself for harbouring it, but in her present frame of mind it stood up salient and welcome as an old friend. Swiftly she found herself once more considering the question of where to raise the money.

She heard the other man bid Cornwall good-bye with a last injunction to see de Windt at once and make the offer, and a moment or two later she sauntered into the verandah and spoke to the solicitor.

"I heard that man’s offer for de Windt’s farm, and I want to tell you I’d like to buy it myself. I’ll give 800 pounds."

Cornwall stared at her, smiling.

"You bitten with the land mania too, Miss Carlton?"

"Yes."

"There’s plenty of it about," he remarked tentatively. "And de Windt’s not particularly keen on selling."

"It must be his farm or none," she said firmly. "I have a particular fancy for the place."

"Oh, well! I’ll see what I can do for you. It’s a good offer, more than the farm is worth, I think. De Windt’s lying ill at present with a bad go of malaria. But I’ll put the matter to him and let you know the result."

"Thank you."

She went inside again, and sat on her bed pretending to wonder where the money was to come from. In reality she knew perfectly well, and she didn’t care. She was in the dirty business now, up to her eyebrows, for loss or gain. If she gained she would give back Montague his 800 pounds and a wave of the hand. If she lost she must marry him and forever hide the fact that he had been no more than a cat’s-paw and a pis aller.

"He is too good for me anyway," she reflected. "Any man is too good for me. I’ve become a scoundrel and an adventuress. Three months of South Africa have done wonders for me! And I don’t care—​I don’t care!"

She bathed her hot face but could not take the burn from it. It was still brightly flushed, making her look very young and lovely, when she stood before Montague and proffered her abrupt request.

"Will you lend me a thousand pounds for three months?"

Reflection had shown her that she might have to bid higher, or that even if she got it for 800 pounds she would need a margin sum with which to prosecute the search for gold. Further, if she could borrow the money for three months, she might be able to sell and refund to him.

"Of course," said Montague promptly, and could not keep elation out of his eyes. He looked like a large fair bull, was very red and very good-natured, but a hard man at a bargain.

"And will you do something for me?" he asked smiling.

"I cannot attach any conditions," she said quickly. "Mine is entirely a business proposition."

"And mine is, as far at least as I am concerned, pure pleasure. It is only to ask you to wear this little jewel for me." He held out a small morocco leather case, but she did not put out a hand to receive it. He sighed.

"Say then to wear it for three months. If when we clear up this terribly serious business proposition you wish to return it to me with the thousand, so be it. If you consent to keep it, I can only say—​you will make me the happiest man in the world."

Mechanically her hand received the small case, and for a moment his hand closed on hers, and carried it to his lips. She grew a little pale.