The day came to an end at last, but there had been nothing to complain of in the way of the sport. They had lunched in the veldt, in ordinary hunter fashion--and in the afternoon had got in among the guinea-fowl; and being lucky enough to break up the troop, had about an hour of pretty sport--for scattered birds lie well and rise well--and by the time they turned their faces homeward, were loaded up with about as much game--buck and birds--as the horses could conveniently carry. A flutter of feminine dresses was visible on the stoep, as they drew near the house, seeing which, an eager look came into Percival West's face. It was not lost upon his kinsman, who smiled to himself sardonically, as he recalled how just such a light had been kindled in his own at one time, and by the same cause. What a long while ago that seemed--and to think, too, that it should ever have been possible. A chorus of congratulation arose as the magnitude of the bag became apparent. "Those two Britishers knocked spots out of us to-day!" cried Earle. "Bayfield and I can clean take a back seat." "You wouldn't call Mr Blachland a Britisher, surely, Mr Earle?" struck in Hermia. "Why, he's shot lions up-country." "Eh, has he? How d'you know?" asked Earle eagerly--while he who was most concerned mentally started. "Didn't he tell us so this morning?" she said, and her glance of mischief was not lost upon Blachland, who remarked: "Does that fact denationalise me, Mrs Fenham? You said I couldn't be counted a Britisher." "Well, you know what I meant." "Oh, perfectly." There was a veiled cut-and-thrust between these two: imperceptible to the others--save one. That one was Lyn. Her straight instinct and true ear had warned her. "She is an adventuress," was the girl's mental verdict. "An impostor, who is hiding something. Some day it will come out." Now she said to herself, watching the two, "He doesn't like her. No, he doesn't." And there was more satisfaction in this conclusion than even its framer was aware of.