ons of a goat slain the week before last,
and when it appears through one door I have to battle with a powerful
yearning to disappear through the other. No--I am not more particular
than most people, nor do I bear any ill-will towards Jones, but really
the catering in a _posada_, on the southern slope of the Pyrenees is
sumptuous in comparison with his."

"Yes, it's beastly bad," assents Suffield. "Every one growls, but then
there's no competition. The other shop's no better. Why don't you get
some quarters of your own, Musgrave--even if you do go on feeding at
Jones'? You'd be far more comfortable."

"I have that in contemplation. Is there a moon to-night, by the way,
Suffield? I don't want to ride into any _sluits_ or to get `turned
round' in the veldt."

"Moon! You've no use for any moon to-night. You've got to wait till
to-morrow for that ride back. You'll be in ample time for court at ten,
or earlier if you like. It's only eight miles."

A chorus of protest arising on all hands, Roden allows himself to be
persuaded, and they promptly adjourn to pipes, and re-try the case of
Gonjana, and agree that that bold robber obtained no more than his full
deserts. Then the eventful post-cart journey is brought up, and Grace
Suffield says--

"I should never have believed you were only a newly arrived Englishman,
Mr Musgrave. Why, you seemed to know your way about on that awful
night better than the other man who was with us, and he has never been
outside the Colony."

"A `raw' Englishman is the approved way of putting it, I believe," is
the unconcerned reply. "Well, Mrs Suffield, you will hardly find such
a thing now. Most of us have done some knocking about the world--I
among others."

That is all. No explanation, no experiences volunteered. The natural
curiosity of two at least among his hearers is doomed to disappointment.
He does not even say in what part of the said world he has done the
knocking about.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two hours later Mrs Suffield goes to Mona's room for a final gossip.

"Well, dear. You were wondering what he was like! Now, what _is_ he
like?" she says.

"Tiresome! Unutterably tiresome!"

"Tiresome!" wonderingly. "Not a bore?"

"Oh no, not that. Only I can't make him out. But--I will. Oh yes, I
will."

The speaker has her face half hidden in her splendid hair which she is
brushing and otherwise arranging