ucy, there are drawbacks attendant on life in a country where there are
not enough women to go round. He is only the fifth since I've been up
here." Even had there been enough women to go round, as the speaker put
it, assuredly she herself would not have come in last among them, if
there are any powers of attraction in an oval face and straight
features, a profusion of golden-brown hair, deep blue Irish eyes thickly
fringed with dark lashes, and a mouth of the Cupid-bow order. Add to
this a beautifully proportioned figure, rather tall than short, and it
is hardly to be wondered that most of the men in the township of Gandela
and all the region round about went mad over Clare Vidal. Her married
sister, Lucy Fullerton, formed a complete contrast, in that she was
short and matronly of build, but she was a bright, pretty, winsome
little thing, and correspondingly popular.

"Well, you shouldn't be so dangerous, you queenly Clare," she retorted,
unpinning her hat and flinging it across the room. "Really it was an
act of deadly hostility towards all our good friends to have brought you
up here to play football with their hearts and their peace of mind. Not
that Jim Steele is any great catch, poor fellow."

"Oh, he'll get over it," said Clare. "They all do."

From this it must not be imputed to her that she was vain and heartless.
For the first, she was wonderfully free from vanity considering her
powers of attraction. For the last, her own heart had never been
touched, wherefore she was simply unable to understand the feeling in
the case of other people, apart from the fact that her words were borne
out by the results of her own observation.

"There was Captain Isard," went on Mrs Fullerton, "and Mr Slark, who
they say has good prospects, and will be a baronet at his father's
death. You sent them to the right-about too."

"For the first--life in the Matabeleland Mounted Police doesn't strike
me as ideal," laughed Clare. "For the second--fancy going through life
labelled Slark. Even, eventually, _Lady_ Slark wouldn't palliate it.
Besides, I don't care twopence for either."

"Who do you care twopence for, among all this throwing of handkerchiefs?
There's Mr Lamont--"

"He never made a fool of himself in that way. He hasn't got it in him,"
struck in Clare, speaking rather more quickly.

Her sister smiled to herself at this kindling of animation.

"Hasn't got it in him?" she repeated, innocently mischievous.