"So you remember?" She looked up, smiling, "There isn't any choice to-day. I have a letter to carry for Andreas to Cornelius Nel. The Nels' farm is about five miles from here. You will see it when we top the rise." "Isn't it somewhat early for making calls?" he asked. "We need only leave the letter," she said. "We will stop there on our way home. It is possible they will want us to stay to breakfast; but if you prefer--" "Oh, please!" he interrupted. "It's for you to decide." "Yes. But you don't understand. Cornelius hates the English; his brother, Herman, is different. Often they do not speak for months as a result of political disagreement. The farm is jointly theirs, but they have separate houses." "In that case," he said, smiling involuntarily, "if we remain to breakfast, it would seem wise that you should breakfast with Cornelius and I with Herman. Are they married, by the way?" "Cornelius is." "And does Mrs Nel share her husband's prejudices?" Honor reflected a moment. Then unexpectedly she broke into a laugh. "Mrs Nel is of the opinion that had the Lord intended the different peoples of the earth to remain on friendly terms. He would never have contrived the confusion of tongues." "Ah!" Matheson's smile broadened. "There is a good deal to be urged in defence of her argument," he said. "Do you know,"--Honor glanced at him swiftly--"I believe they will like you. You have none of the irritating characteristics of the average Englishman." "Look here!" he remonstrated. "When you disparage my countrymen, you disparage me. I wish you wouldn't say those things. I don't know how far you are in earnest, but I can't take it as a compliment when you dissociate me from my country. Why not practise a little forbearance?" "I think we will not remain to breakfast with the Nels," was all she said in response, and rode on with her face turned from him and her chin held high. Matheson felt exasperated. The qualities which appealed to her, tolerance and a sympathetic understanding, were inexplicably entirely lacking in herself: she did not desire to take any but a personal view. The injuries which she, with her family, refused to forget were ancient scars now; but they kept these scars from healing by constant probing, indifferent to the fact that the unhealed wound is painful only to the sufferer. She had not any sense of fair play, he decided, for all her English blood. It was rather a silent ride they took that morning. Matheson, sensible of the tension, of the curious thrill of antagonism which he felt was common in both, held to his point stubbornly and refused to make overtures. He was not in the wrong; it was not for him to offer reparation.