"No," she interrupted in a low voice. "No!" He went on as though he had not heard her. "In one sense you are right--I'm not dangerous. Simply I could not, if it lay in my power, injure you. Whatever you did--and I believe you contemplate something hateful--I could only stand by silent, and regret the misconception which is leading you on to this miserable folly. You are led away by others--by men who have some ignoble end to serve, and are using you, as one of them has used me, as a tool." She lifted her head proudly and looked him steadily in the eyes, and answered with a quiet, and what appeared to him absurd dignity: "I am led by patriotism and a hatred of injustice, Mr Matheson--not by any man." He made an impatient movement. "You are ignorant of the very rudiments of patriotism," he said. "You have educated yourself to one end, and you go forward blindly, seeing nothing of the evil of this flame of hate you are helping to fan into a conflagration--intent on an impossible goal." "Not impossible," she insisted. "You are altogether mistaken," he went on. "You won't admit that, of course. Most persons with a grievance are unreasonable; they become obsessed with the one idea. You imagine you are out for reform. Even if you were sincere in believing that, you are too clever not to know that reforms don't come about the way you are working. Impulsive reform leads to reaction. Change to be enduring must be gradual. That--the right sort of reform--is taking place every day; it goes on year by year. Injustice was deported long since. We are making all the compensation possible." She rested a hand on the table and leaned towards him, a gathering resentment smouldering in her eyes. "You don't understand," she said. "You can't put yourself in our place--in the place of any of these people who have suffered. What right have you to talk of these things? You haven't lost your birthright. If you had,"--she smiled faintly--"I am quite convinced you would fight for its recovery." "You haven't lost your birthright either," he replied--"and some of you know it." Herman Nel's words leapt suddenly to his mind: "A country belongs to the people who live in it." South Africa belonged to the South African. The British Empire could not, did not desire to, dispute that. She turned aside and went to the window and stood there, her air a little drooping as though she were weary, her eyes travelling listlessly across the shining wonder of dew-drenched sunlit veld. "What's the good of talking?" she said. "I've tried to show you--to make you see our side. At one time I thought I was succeeding. But you don't understand."