well knit withal,
extremely brisk in his movements, yet not in the least fussy; indeed,
such briskness seemed to express in itself his expansive and fun-loving
nature, and when a joke or a good story was to the fore, no laugh was
more spontaneous or heartier than his.

Their ways part here, and they separate. Roden, as he strolls down
towards the hotel where he has for the present taken up his quarters,
recalls the verdict which had irresistibly been forced upon his mind, as
he had been rattled into the place in the ramshackle post-cart one hot
and dusty afternoon ten days ago.

"Heavens! what a God-forsaken looking hole!" had been his unspoken
utterance as he viewed for the first time the ugly, mean-looking town,
and realised that this was to be his home for an indefinite period.

To say truth the aspect of Doppersdorp was calculated to impress nobody
in its favour. It lay upon an open plain, shut in on three sides by
bare and craggy mountains, and consisted at first sight mainly of a
couple of hundred mud-coloured tenements looking like lumps of clay
dropped upon the veldt and left to dry in the sun. It improved,
however, on closer inspection. The streets were broad and well laid
out, and bordered by willows--and on the lower side of the town were
gardens, which made a pleasant oasis of green against the prevailing
aridity. Some of the houses were double-storeyed, but the most
prominent building of all was the Dutch Reformed Church, an appalling
specimen of architecture, staringly new, and surmounted by a badly
proportioned steeple. The inhabitants of this place were firmly under
the impression that Doppersdorp was the most attractive, and nearly the
most important, town in the world; which was a comfortable form of
belief for themselves, if a bore to the new arrival, who was expected to
acquiesce.

"What d'you think of Doppersdorp?" was fired into the said new arrival
by every one with whom he was brought into contact, socially or
officially, unawares or with premeditation. And each individual querist
would be sure to continue in a tone of complacency, which might convey
the idea that it owed its attractiveness, if not its very existence,
mainly to himself:

"Ah, it's not half a bad little place, Doppersdorp; not half a bad
little place."

To which Roden Musgrave would agree, from the double-barrelled motive of
expediency, and the needless exertion entailed by maintaining the
contrary. His real opinio