We were becoming known in the town and the shopkeepers were very pleasant to us. We had the impression that the townsfolk were pleased that the school was open again.

Of all the children in my class there was one girl who interested me particularly. I was haunted by her rather sad little face. Her name was Anna Schreiner and she was about five years old. Her mother brought her to school each morning and called to pick her up at the appointed times with most of the parents of the younger children. She was a quiet child and, if addressed, usually replied in monosyllables; she hardly ever smiled. Her mother was young and pretty, fair-haired, blue-eyed and rather plump. It struck me that Anna was brooding on something which she could not get out of her mind.

One day the children were copying the letters I had put on the blackboard; so deep in concentration were they that there was hardly a sound except that of pencils scratching on slates. I wandered round, looking at what they were doing, commenting now and then. “Is that an 0 or a Q? A Q? It hasn’t got its little tail on, has it?” “The loop on that P comes down too far. See?” Then I came to Anna. She was working laboriously and all her letters seemed perfect.

I sat down beside her. “That’s very good,” I said.

She did not smile. She just went on with the letters.

“Is everything all right, Anna?”

She nodded.

“Do you like school?”

She nodded again.

“You are happy here?”

Again the nod. I was getting nowhere.

She continued to bother me. I thought she was an unnatural child, aloof from the others.

I watched her with her mother. Her face did not brighten when she saw her. She just ran up to her and took her hand; and they went off together.

I told Lilias of my interest in the child.

“Children vary,” she said. “She’s just a solemn child.”

“She has that pretty mother. I wonder if she is an only child?”

“John Dale would probably know. Ask him next time you see him.”

That time would not be far off, I guessed. He was a frequent visitor to the schoolhouse. He often brought food and wine as he had on the first day and we would share what he called a “picnic.”

When I asked him about Anna Schreiner he said: “Oh yes. Poor child. I understand her living in perpetual fear. She probably imagines Hell’s Gates are open wide to receive her if she’s five minutes late for school.”

“Her mother looks as though she is quite a jolly person.”

“Greta, yes. Well, she was … once. I don’t understand why she married old Schreiner. Although there were rumours …”

“Rumours?” I cried.

“It’s probably a lot of scandal.”

“Mr. Dale,” said Lilias. “It helps us to teach our children if we know something of their background.”

“Well, I’ll tell you what I know. Piet Schreiner is rather a formidable character. Calvinistic … puritanical. There are a few like him in this town … and all over the country, it seems. There is a strong feeling of puritanism among the Boers. He is even more fanatical than most. One could imagine his going off on the Great Trek. Hard-working … strictly honest and … godly—so he would say. It seems sad that someone with his virtues should put such an interpretation on his religion as to make life miserable for everyone around him. For such as he is, everything people do seems to have its roots in sin. I suppose he himself is always on guard against it.”

“And that’s little Anna’s father?” I said.

“Well … on the surface. There are some who say that is not the case.”

“What do you mean?” asked Lilias.

“Schreiner is all of twenty years older than Greta … she’s the child’s mother. A pretty girl who was inclined to be flighty … once. Her family were strict with her … and I suppose that may have added to the incentive to stray … or to do something that shocks. The fact of the matter is that her family were very friendly with Schreiner. He’s a lay preacher in the chapel which they attend. Whether or not Greta married him because she was in trouble, I am not sure, but I cannot imagine she could have had any other reason for doing so.”

“So Schreiner is not Anna’s father …”

“He calls himself her father. It’s all on the records. The girl is Anna Schreiner all right. The fact is that Schreiner married Greta in a bit of a hurry. No one had thought he would ever marry anyone—let alone a young girl like that. There was a lot of talk about it. However, there it was. They married—that frivolous young girl and the hellfire preacher so much older than herself. It was a nine days’ wonder. There was as much talk about it as when Ben Curry found the Blue Diamond and made a millionaire of himself. But that happened more than five years ago. People forget. They only remember now and then.”

“So that poor child lives with her flighty mother and this fanatically religious man who may or may not be her father.”

“Poor little thing. I don’t suppose she has too good a time.”

“I must try to help her in some way,” I said.

“Don’t get into conflict with old Schreiner,” warned John. “Holy men can be fiendish when they are fighting the enemies of the righteous … which means anyone who doesn’t agree with them.”

“That’s not likely,” said Lilias. “But I know Diana will be gentle with the poor little thing.”

After that I took an even greater interest in Anna Schreiner, but no matter how I tried, it was impossible to get her to talk. She just worked more diligently than the others and quietly walked away with her pretty mother.

What sort of life did they have with each other? I wondered.

ON OUR SECOND SUNDAY in Kimberley Lilias and I were invited to lunch at Riebeeck House.

Myra had called on us on the previous Wednesday about four-thirty, after school had closed.

She said: “I guessed that I should be interrupting school if I came at any other time. Do tell me how everything is going.”

“Very well indeed,” Lilias told her enthusiastically. “We have been agreeably surprised.”

“That’s wonderful. I hear that the school is a great success.”

“That’s a bit premature,” cautioned Lilias, but she was well pleased. “Where did you hear that?”

“From Mrs. Prost, our housekeeper. She is one of those women who know what is going on everywhere.”

“Useful to have around,” I commented. “And how is everything with you?”

“Oh …” There was a brief hesitation. “Everything is very well.”

“And you like the house?”

“It’s … very large and one is apt to get lost. The servants are nearly all Africans. It makes it difficult to … be understood.”

“But this Mrs. Prost, she looks after everything, I suppose.”

“Oh yes. I came to ask you over to lunch on Sunday. It has to be a Sunday for you, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Lilias. “That is the best day.”

“Roger wants to hear all about the school. He says you will have settled in and formed an opinion by now.”

“People have been so good to us,” said Lilias. “It was lucky for us that we met you on the ship … and since that mistake about our cabin, we were able to be with you. And now that we are here, well, Mr. Dale has been quite invaluable to us, hasn’t he, Diana?”

I said that he had, for from the moment we had arrived he had taken us under his wing.

“They’re so glad to get the school going again,” said Myra. “You will come, won’t you?”

“But of course,” I said. “We shall be delighted, shall we not, Lilias?”

So it was arranged.

When she had gone, I said to Lilias: “I can’t help feeling that all is not quite right with that marriage.”

Lilias laughed at me. “You and your fancies! First it’s little Anna Schreiner, and now it is the Lestranges. The trouble with you is that you have too much imagination and you let it run wild. You like something dramatic to happen and when it doesn’t you set about creating it.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” I said. “But all the same …”

Practical Lilias. She could only smile at me.

And as I liked to see her happy I smiled with her.

RIEBEECK HOUSE was something of a mansion. Although it was situated in the town, once one had passed through the gates and entered the grounds which surrounded the house, one might have been miles away from any other dwelling.

The drive in was about a quarter of a mile in length, but the foliage was so lush and abundant that one felt one was in the heart of the country. Flowering shrubs of colourful blossoms were huddled together. Flame trees and poinsettias added a further dash of colour. I shall never forget my first sight of the place as we came through this mass of vegetation to the white house.

It was an imposing place, built in the Dutch style. There were steps leading up to a stoop in front of the house and on this were urns which were almost hidden by the prolific plants.

It was large and there seemed to be many windows. It was one of those houses which had a personality of its own. Lilias laughed at this when, later, I mentioned it to her. Practical Lilias saw everything with absolute clarity for what it was.

Very soon I felt there was something a little repellant about the house. Perhaps it was because I could never feel absolutely at ease in the company of Roger Lestrange. I also had an idea that Myra was not as happy as she should be and that she shared with me that vague lack of ease.

Mrs. Prost came down to greet us.

“You must be Miss Milne and Miss Grey,” she said. She had small light eyes which darted everywhere. Her light brown hair was plaited and wound round her head. I had the impression that there was little she would miss. “Do come in,” she went on. “I’ll tell Mrs. Lestrange that you are here.”

“We’re glad to meet you, Mrs. Prost,” said Lilias.

“Welcome to Kimberley. I hear the school is doing well.”

“It’s early days yet,” said Lilias cautiously. “But all is well … at the moment.”

“Very pleased to hear it, and so is everyone.”

Myra appeared.

“I thought I heard your arrival.”

Mrs. Prost stood watching while Myra greeted us.

“Luncheon will be served at one o’clock, Mrs. Lestrange,” she said.

“Thank you, Mrs. Prost.” Myra turned to us. “Do come up. Roger is in the drawing room. He is so looking forward to hearing your news.”

She took my hand and held it lingeringly.

“Are you well?” I asked.

“Oh yes … thanks. I am so glad you came. I wanted to call at the school, but I thought you would be so busy just at first.”

“We’re teaching in the mornings … and then again from two till four,” said Lilias. “Any time after that we love to receive visitors.”

“Roger says that John Dale has been looking after you.”

“He is,” said Lilias warmly. “We are so grateful to him. He has made everything so easy for us.”

We were taken through a large hall with white walls and vivid red curtains, up a staircase to a room on the first floor.

Myra opened a door and said: “They’re here.”

It was a spacious room with tall windows. My first impression was that of an interior painting by one of the Dutch masters. The floor was of delicately tinted tiles which gave an impression of coolness. Later I noticed the heavy furniture— baroque style—the table with the scrolls and the inlaid ebony, the cabinet on stands, impressive with pilasters and decorative carving.

But there was no time to look round then for Roger Lestrange had risen and was coming towards us, hands outstretched.

“Miss Milne … Miss Grey … what a pleasure!”

He took our hands and smiled warmly. “How good of you to come. I have been hearing of your success. It is especially gratifying as I shall receive the thanks of the grateful townsfolk for bringing you here.”

“We have been here only a short time,” began Lilias tentatively.

“And,” I added, “we have fourteen pupils, so there has hardly been a stampede to our gate.”

Lilias smiled at me. “We are really very pleased,” she said. “We were warned that there would only be a few pupils and Mr. Dale did not really expect so many as there are.”

Roger looked at Myra expectantly and she said hastily: “Come and sit down. Luncheon will be served at one.”

“What do you think of our house?” asked Roger.

“We are very impressed by what we have seen,” said Lilias.