He looked up as if at a call. It was not so much her words, in fact, he was not sure what it was that gave him a mental jump, but the impression was as startling as if she had taken a little hammer and hit a nail into him hard, only that no pain attached to the proceeding. She had risen, and was busying herself with the coffee-pot. He became aware for the first time of charming contours that could not be concealed by an old print frock. Also, that she moved better than most girls of her class; that her hair was becomingly done; and that the ribbon round her throat lent an added note of colour to her eyes. A glint came into his own eye, but Chrissie’s face was as demure as the face of a Greuze milkmaid. It is to be feared, however, that her heart was less naive than her remark. The fact is, Chrissie was a natural-born flirt and knew perfectly well what she was about. She sugared the coffee with eyelashes brushing her cheek, biting her under-lip a little as if that helped to concentrate her attention on the task. Certainly it gave Braddon an opportunity of observing how white and even were those same teeth. Her nails too were daintily trimmed. Indeed she was a surprise he had never expected to find at Jackalsfontein, and what he could not understand was why the fact was only just dawning upon him. Certainly she was quite unlike all the other girls he had met on his trips into outlying districts. He wondered what had made him think she would be draggy.

The strap of a case he wore slung round his shoulders chafed him and he unbuckled it and put a camera beside him on the table. Chrissie’s glance immediately seized on it.

"You take photographs?"

"Yes—​do you?"

She shook her head, her accomplishments did not run to that.

"I only wish I could."

"I could soon teach you."

She laughed and blushed a little, leaning her round face on one shapely hand. He thought what a jolly picture she would make and the thought was father to the desire.

"Will you let me take a photograph of you?"

"Yes," she said eagerly. "Quickly, before Poppa comes back."

It was the work of an instant. He snapped twice in case of a failure, then closed the camera and put it away.

"Will you send me one?"

"Or bring it, if you will allow me. I am only a few miles off."

Chrissie made no response to this but looked into her coffee cup as though it were a crystal ball in which she could read the future.

"I am sorry Mr Retief should feel so badly about the railway," said Braddon at last. "It’s got to come whether he likes it or not."

"That’s what I tell him."

"You are not against us then, Miss Retief?"

Old Nick lumbering back to his chair perhaps prevented her from expressing any opinion on the matter, but she slid Braddon a blue glance that seemed to be an answer to several things besides his question. The old man, who had not recovered his temper, continued to smoke in gloomy silence like a smouldering fire ready to burst into flame at the least puff of wind. Braddon made an effort at conciliation by proffering an inquiry or two as to farming affairs generally, but met with no marked success.

"How goes it with the sheep, Oom?" Oom Nick glowered at him for some time before grunting a response.

"The sheep are a beetje thin."

Braddon essayed another throw.

"How goes it with the land?"

After a long silence.

"The land is a beetje dry."

This was melancholy. Braddon, about to conclude with the usual polite query: "How goes it with the wife?" caught a swift glance from Chrissie and was reminded that he had heard of the old man being a widower of long standing.