They met at a dinner at the house of the jovial squire to whom Allan had given his shooting--a five-mile drive from Fendyke. Lady Emily had persuaded her son to accept the invitation. His father had been dead six months. Though she, the widow, would go nowhere, it might seem churlish in the son to hold himself aloof from old friends. "And you don't want to be wearing the willow for that shallow-hearted girl, I hope," added Lady Emily, who was very angry with Suzette. No, he did not want to wear the willow, to pose as a victim, so he accepted Mr. Meadowbank's invitation. It was to be only a friendly dinner, only the house party; and among the house party Allan found his old acquaintance, Cecil Patrington, a man who had spent the best years of his life in Africa, and had won renown among sportsmen as a hunter of big game, a weather-beaten athlete, brawny, strong of limb, with bronzed forehead and copper-coloured neck. "I think you were just back from Bechuana Land when we last met," said Allan, in the unreserve of Squire Meadowbank's luxurious smoke-room, "and you were going back to the Cape when the shooting was over. Have you been in Africa ever since?" "Yes, I have been moving about most of the time, here and there, mostly in Central South Africa, between Brazzaville and Tabora, now on one side of the lake, now on the other?" "Which lake?" "Tanganyika. It's a delightful district, only it's getting a deuced deal too well known. Burton was a glorious fellow, and he had a glorious career. No man can ever enjoy life in Africa like that. There are steamers on the lake now, and one meets babies in perambulators, genuine British babies!" with a profound sigh. "I have looked for a record of your exploits at the Geographical." "Oh, I don't go in for that kind of thing, you see. I read a paper once, and it didn't pay. I am not a literary cove like Burton, and I haven't the gift of the gab like Stanley--who is a literary cove, too, by the way. I ain't a scientific explorer. I don't care a hang what becomes of the water, don't you know. I like the lakes for their own sake--and the niggers for their own sake--and the picturesqueness of it all, and the variety, and the danger of it all. If I discovered a new lake or an unknown forest, I should keep the secret to myself. That's my view of Africa. I ain't a geographer. I ain't a missionary. I ain't a trader. I like Africa because it's jolly, and because there ain't any other place in the world worth living in for the man who has once been there." "Shall you ever go again?" "Shall I ever?" Mr. Patrington laughed at the question. "I sail for Zanzibar next November." "Do you?" said Allan. "I should like to go with you." "Why not?" asked Mr. Patrington. CHAPTER II. "IF SHE BE NOT FAIR TO ME."