Sellon. All her sage precepts to the latter
notwithstanding, she had more than once allowed her prudence to lull.
The sharp precocity of the children had discovered their secret in no
time, and, disliking her as they did, they had, we may be sure, been at
no pains to hold their prying, chattering little tongues. Then the
whole thing had become common property to all around.

That she should prefer Sellon seemed to Renshaw quite a natural thing.
In his single-heartedness, his utter freedom from egotism, he was
sublimely unconscious of any advantages which he himself might possess
over the other. She had rejected him unequivocally, for he had once put
his fate to the test. She was therefore perfectly free to show
preference for whosoever she pleased. The one consideration which
caused him to feel sore at times--and he would not have been human had
it been otherwise--was the consciousness that he himself was the agency
through which the two had been thrown together. Many a man would have
reflected rather bitterly on the strange freak of fortune which had once
appointed him the preserver of his successful rival's life. But Renshaw
Fanning's nature was too noble to entertain any such reflection. If it
occurred to him, he would cast forth the idea in horror, as something
beyond all words contemptible.

This being so, he had made up his mind to accept the inevitable, and had
succeeded so well--outwardly, at least--as to give his tormentor some
colour for the opening words of our present chapter. But he little knew
Violet Avory. That insatiable little heart-breaker fully believed in
eating her cake _and_ having it, too. She was not going to let it be
said that any man had given her up, least of all this one. The giving
up must come from her own side.

"How glum you are, Renshaw," she began, at last. "You have said nothing
but `yes' or `no' ever since we left the house. And that was at least
half an hour ago."

He started guiltily. The use of his Christian name was an artfully
directed red-hot shot from her battery. In public it was always "Mr
Fanning." And they had not met otherwise than in public since his
return.

"Am I?" he echoed. "I really beg your pardon, but I am afraid I must
be."

"First of all, where are you going to take me?"

"We had better ride up to the head of the Long Kloof. It is only a
gradual ascent, and an easier ride for you."

This was agreed to, and presently they were windin