“You haven’t told him to come and fetch you away, I hope?” Matilda said, as he rode away.

And she smiled and answered, “No, not unless he specially needs me.”

“You don’t want to go ?” Matilda asked abruptly.

“Not unless you are tired of me,” Sylvia rejoined.

“Don’t be silly!” said Matilda briefly.

Half an hour after Merston’s departure there came the shambling trot of another horse, and Piet Vreiboom, slouched like a sack in the saddle rode up and rolled off at the door.

“Oh, bother the man!” said Matilda, “I shan’t ask him in with Bill away.”

The amiable Piet, however, did not wait to be asked.  He fastened up his horse and rolled into the house with his hat on, where he gave her perfunctory greeting, grinned at Sylvia, and seated himself in the easiest chair he could find.

Matilda’s face of unconcealed disgust nearly provoked Sylvia to uncontrolled laughter, but she checked herself in time, and went to get the unwelcome visitor a drink in the hope of speeding his departure.

Piet Vreiboom however was in no hurry, though they assured him repeatedly that Merston would probably not return for some hours.  He sat squarely in his chair with his little greedy eyes fixed upon Sylvia, and merely grunted in response to all their efforts.

When he had refreshed himself and lighted his pipe, he began to search his mind for the few English words at his disposal and to arrange these in a fashion intelligible to the two very inferior beings who were listening to him.  He told them in laboured language that he had come from Brennerstadt, that the races were over and the great Wilbraham diamond was lost and won.  Who had won it?  No one knew.  Some said it was a lady.  He looked again at Sylvia who turned out the pockets of her overall, and assured him that she was not the lucky one.

He looked as if he suspected ridicule behind her mirth, and changed the subject.  Guy Ranger had disappeared, and no one knew what had become of him.  Some people thought he was dead, like Kieff.  Again he looked searchingly at Sylvia, but she did not joke over this information.  She began to peel some potatoes as if she had not heard it.  And Piet Vreiboom sat back in his chair and stared at her, till the hot colour rose and spread over her face and neck, and then he puffed forth a cloud of vile smoke and laughed.

At that juncture Mrs. Merston came forward with unusual briskness.  “You had better go,” she said, with great decision.  “There is going to be a storm.”

He began to dispute the point, but meeting most unexpected lightning in her pale eyes he thought better of it, and after a few seconds for deliberation and the due assertion of his masculine superiority, he lumbered to his feet and prepared to depart.

Mrs. Merston followed him firmly to the door, reiterating, her belief in a coming change.  Certainly the sky was overcast, but the clouds often came up thickly at night and dispersed again without shedding any rain.  There had not been rain for months.