While he was weighing these important considerations, Honor abruptly snapped his chain of thought with a wholly irrelevant remark about the sunset; and he realised with a sense of mingled regret and relief that the time was past in which any explanation was possible. Honor never encouraged personalities, as he had noticed before; whenever the talk showed a tendency to slip to a more intimate note than usual she speedily brought it back to the impersonal. He ignored the sunset. He did not even glance towards it. "When are you going to show me more of the beauty of the Karroo?" he asked. "You have never taken me for a second ride." "Oh!" she cried, and he wondered whether it were simply the glow of the setting sun that flushed her cheeks so brightly. "We have ridden every day." "We have ridden, yes--but never alone since that first morning. The magic of the solitudes is not found among crowds." "Crowds!" murmured Honor, with a suspicion of laughter in her voice. "Don't tease," he entreated. "You know exactly what I mean. One mind not entirely in sympathy with another can create its multitudes. Won't you go with me again alone in search of the truth and the mystery which make the beauty of the veld? I want to see these things with your eyes." "Why?" she asked. "Because of your wonderful insight. One person looking into a puddle would see only the mud at the bottom, and another would perceive sufficient beauties of light and shade to transform even mud into a glorious substance. You have the gift of imagination--which is merely another term for being able to see truth. Teach me to see it also. I begin to believe that my destiny has led me here that I may learn that of you." "To see truth!" she said, and regarded him thoughtfully. "I wonder if you are being sincere? One doesn't learn those things from another human being. But I'll ride with you--to-morrow. Rise an hour earlier, and we will start before any one is about." She stood up suddenly and faced the west. "See!" she said. "The sun has gone. I must go in and see about supper." He stood up also, and interposed himself in her path and looked down into her face, flushed with the sunset, and very fair and earnest in expression. "I am always entirely sincere with you," he said. "You mustn't ever again question my sincerity." Honor appeared surprised, even a little startled; his outburst was unusual and unexpected, and his manner was very insistent. Without intending it she had hurt him; she regretted that. "I was mistaken," she acknowledged generously. "I believe that you are sincere." Then she left him, standing in the path feeling a little surprised at himself, and went swiftly up to the stoep and entered the house. For the first time in her life she had experienced shyness in a man's presence.