“I like it more and more,” said Sylvia.  She stretched an arm towards the wide veldt all about them.  “I am simply aching for a gallop over that—­a gallop in the very early morning, and to see the sun rise from that knoll!”

“That’s a kopje,” said Burke.

Again half-unconsciously his eyes dwelt upon her vivid face.  She seemed to draw his look almost in spite of him.  He set down the basket by her side.

“Am I to unpack?” said Sylvia.

He dropped his eyes.  “No.  I will.  It isn’t much of a feed; only enough to keep us from starvation.  Tell me some more about yourself!  Tell me about your people—­your home!”

“Have you never heard of me before?” she asked.  “Did—­Guy—­never speak of me?”

“I knew there was someone.”  Burke spoke rather unwillingly.  “I don’t think he ever actually spoke of you to me.  We’re not exactly—­kindred spirits, he and I.”

“You don’t like him,” said Sylvia.

“Nor he me,” said Burke Ranger.

She looked at him with her candid eyes.  “I don’t think you are very tolerant of weakness, are you?” she said gently.

“I don’t know,” he said non-committally.  “Won’t you tell me about yourself?”

The subject of Guy was obviously distasteful to him, yet her whole life during the past five years had been so closely linked to the thought of that absent lover of hers that it was impossible to speak of the one without the other.  She told him all without reservation, feeling in a fashion that it was his right to know.

He listened gravely, without comment, until she ended, when he made one brief observation.  “And so you chose the deep sea!”

“Could I have done anything else?” she said.  “Would you have done anything else?”

“Probably not,” he said.  “But a man is better equipped to fight the undercurrents!”

“You think I was very rash?” she questioned.

He smiled.  “One doesn’t look for caution in a girl.  I think your father deserved a horsewhipping, for letting you go.”

“He couldn’t prevent me,” said Sylvia quickly.

“Pshaw!” said Burke Ranger.

“You’re very rude,” she protested.

His smile became a laugh.  “I could have prevented you,” he said.

She flushed.  “Indeed you couldn’t!  I am not a namby-pamby miss.  I go my own way.  I——­”

She broke off suddenly.  Burke’s eyes, grey as steel in his sun-tanned face, were upon her.  He looked amused at her vehemence.

“Well?” he said encouragingly.  “Finish!”

She laughed in spite of herself.  “No, I shan’t say any more.  I never argue with the superior male.  I just—­go my own way, that’s all.”

“From which I gather that you are not particularly partial to the superior male,” said Burke.

“I hate the species,” said Sylvia with simplicity.

“Except when it kneels at your feet,” he suggested, looking ironical.