It was a rather sobered Diana who rode out the next morning to meet William van Hert, and when she saw him she felt suddenly conscious of herself in a way she had never done before and hoped she never would again. The glow in his eyes made it difficult for her to meet them, and they dismounted and went almost in silence to their usual seat.

"You know, of course, what happened last night," he said, with ill-suppressed eagerness. "It has seemed like weeks and months since; every hour a week. I have not slept all night with longing for the morning."

He was looking at his very best: another man almost since they last sat there; not good-looking, no one would ever call van Hert good-looking, but muscular and lean, with an air of virility and force always alluring. A man destined to be a leader in some way; one who must carry others along with him, if only because of his enthusiasm and fervour. The main point was, that he should carry them in a useful, practical direction. And hitherto there had been no special reason to hope this would be the case; it seemed more probable that, for the sake of making a noise in the world and gaining a following, he would identify himself with policies which the older and wiser men left alone; not from any indifference to the influence he was likely to wield, but because he was so full of warmth and intensity it must find an outlet. Some men are like that, especially politicians. They seem to be obsessed with the idea that they must make a hit somehow at once and come to the front now. And so they are apt to seize upon the first available policy likely to prove a good solid tub to stand and shout on; whether it is a durable tub, or one certain to be to their credit, is something of a side issue. The main point is a tub big enough and strong enough to bear them while they make the commotion and gain the hearing they are bent upon. And this spirit, like most spirits, may have its uses; it is not entirely to be deprecated. It may bring home very forcibly to the electors a weak spot that had otherwise been overlooked. In listening to the shouter, they may perceive how very entirely he is wrong; and, none the less, make the useful discovery that he is a good shouter. This then becomes the critical point. Having gained his hearing, will he condescend to moderate his views and listen to a little wisdom from older and more experienced men; or will he be obtuse enough to continue to stamp and shout on his tub, for fear people will call him a turncoat, or a few, who really do not matter, will leave off listening to him if he grows less noisy? And it is then perhaps a great politician is marred or made. Perhaps it often depends very much upon the main influence that held sway when the moment came to leave off shouting. That moment had come for van Hert, and he had the perspicacity to perceive it; though whether he would have acted upon his wiser judgment, left entirely to himself, it is impossible to say. It is, on the whole, pleasanter to think that, just because he was a clever, capable, sincere man and South Africa had need of such, the God of nations placed the matter beyond all doubt by sending the right influence across his path.

Diana's mocking spirit loved to make game of heroics and big matters, but it was an affectation and nothing more: as Meryl and Henry Pym had long ago perceived, not van Hert himself nor Meryl cared more at heart for the great questions of the day affecting South Africa, and through her the Empire itself, since every year shows more clearly how tremendously England's colonies must matter to the mother country. The older and wiser men were already beginning to shake their heads over the grave and difficult problem of the white races and the black; over the tremendous increase of the latter in comparison, which threatened to swamp the white man out of South Africa altogether. One thing was obvious to all thinkers, the white races must combine. Union must indeed be Union and not an empty name. The Englishman and the Dutchman must join hands and sink differences, not only for the common good, but the common safety. So when Diana's practical spirit perceived how great and real an attraction van Hert had for her, she did not try to put it from her and struggle against it because he was a Dutchman. The moment she was sure, and the course was clear, she let herself go fearlessly; not as an act of sacrifice at all, she was far too practical to have much faith in a sacrifice such as Meryl had conceived, but because she loved the man and believed in him, and had no shadow of doubt as to his courage and sincerity if he were but influenced to move in the right direction.

Well, he had stood on his tub and done his shouting right well; and now he had a goodly following and was the object of not a little execration, which is a usual thing for tub-shouters, and does not matter very much. What mattered was whether he possessed the genius to keep his followers and carry them along with him, after moderating his views and coming into line with the older and wiser men. Diana believed that he did, and as to be believed in is a very strong aid to all men, there was very little doubt that eventually the God of nations would prove to have given South Africa a fine statesman, even if he were built up upon a rabid politician. And if the instrument used was a woman, has not a great nation itself been built up through such instrumentality?

And here one pauses a moment to think the old question, how often is a woman at the back of a man's greatness or a country's or any greatness whatsoever? Only these women do not need to do any shouting, because, as a rule, they only want to be heard by one. And when the result is a fine edifice, they are still content to go unnamed and unsung if that one be lauded generously. For God made women in the beginning, the best women of all, to want love and be content with love, and care very little about fame. And so they go quietly on their way, creating great results, moving mountains, and saying very little about it. It is that old heroic spirit Lamartine wrote about. And there is a spark of it in the soul of every woman waging her solitary fight on the outposts of the Empire, whether she put new life and hope and spirit into a miner's cabin, or a farmer's little wattle-and-daub home, or in the heart of any servant of the Empire. What the colonies owe to their women is so little talked about, partly perhaps because words are all too inadequate to express it, and also perhaps because if the one is there to listen and the one to love, many women want no recognition.

But all this time it only remains to be said that Diana believed in van Hert and believed in his work for her country, and that was why she had been able to give her love so frankly and absolutely, and was not in the least deterred by those mutterings of execration which there is very little doubt she intended shortly to put an end to for good and all; for if she had entertained any doubts as to how much he loved her and was ready to do for her, they must have been swept away utterly out of sight after the first moment of their meeting this morning. What he had fought to keep out of his face before was now flooding through it. Never at any moment, even when he first loved Meryl, had he looked at her as he now looked at Diana. In every pulse of her being she felt he loved her, not perhaps with the calm, strong love of her own countrymen, but with a fierceness and intensity, inherited maybe from some French ancestor, that appealed to her love of vigour. She at least had level-headedness enough for the two.

But it would hardly have been Diana to sit demurely and listen to his outpouring, now that he might speak and she might hear. It was far more natural that the very certainty of everything should make her feel contrary and want to tantalise him; particularly when, after his first question had been answered with a quiet affirmative, he plunged into the subject filling his heart without any preliminary, and with all that quick enthusiasm of his bursting its bounds.

"Then we need not say any more about it. Why should we?... There is only you and I now. It seems for the moment as if there were no one else in the entire universe. But I want the answer to that other question of mine"; and he leaned near to her, with his whole attitude a sort of inspired interrogation.

"What question?..." A shade of lightness had crept into Diana's voice; the shadow of a smile into her eyes. She felt on the verge of being a little unnerved, and a feigned or real inconsequence was ever her refuge.

"The question you were not willing to answer yesterday, and which I told you I should ask again to-day. You said that you had asked me what I thought of a man who married a woman when he did not love her. And I said that was not what you had asked. Do you remember the original question, or must I tell you what it was?"

"I don't remember anything about it. I'm afraid I'm rather given to asking questions."

"That means I must tell you. Diana, what you asked me was, what did I think of a man who married one woman and loved another? Now, I want to know how and when you discovered that I loved another?..."

"It was the obvious conclusion"—studying the toe of her smart riding-boot with exaggerated interest. "Otherwise you must have loved Meryl; you could not help it."

"I see." The smile dawned in his eyes now. "And was it equally obvious who the other woman was?"

She glanced away to hide her tell-tale mouth. "It might have been if it had interested me."

"But, of course, it didn't?..." and he laughed a low, happy laugh.

"Not in the least. Why should it?..."

"Ah, why?..." and his hand suddenly closed over hers, and at the strong, possessive touch the magnetism of the man made her blood race through her veins. She tried to draw her hand away, but he only held it more tightly, and his face was very engaging as he said, "I've a good mind not to tell you who the other woman is as you are not interested."

"Then I shall conclude she will not have anything to do with you," came the quick retort. And then her fascinating mouth twitched at the corners in a way that threatened to undo van Hert entirely. He looked away with a half-fierce expression. "If you don't want me to crush you in my arms out here in a public road, don't do that."

"Don't do what?..." innocently; and then they both laughed.

When they were serious again his voice sounded a deeper and more forceful note. "Dearest," he said, still imprisoning her hand, "it seems superfluous for me to tell you how much I love that other woman, as superfluous as to name her. I seem as if I had neither a thought nor an idea nor a feeling that does not love her."

"Then let us hope she is not a stiff-necked Britisher," quoth Diana, still as if a little afraid to be serious.

"Ah!..." and he raised her hand to his lips. "I believe you will make me love the whole race."

"That would complicate matters exceedingly for you," with a mischievous taunt in her eyes. "You seem to have hated them so very satisfactorily up to now. What shall you say to your colleagues the next time they are expecting you at one of their fiery denunciation meetings?... I have married a wife, an English one, therefore I cannot come?..."

"Shall I have married her?..." and he looked hard into her face, blissfully indifferent to her shafts.

"Married whom?..." she asked, provokingly.

He clenched his teeth together. "I feel as if I could shake you!..." and he glanced round to see if anyone were in sight.

"O, if you're going to be that sort of a tyrant!..." Diana began. But she got no further. No one was in sight, not even the boy with the horses. And van Hert just gathered her into his arms and crushed her for the sheer joy of it until she cried for mercy. "Say you will be good and treat me with proper respect," he demanded before he released her, and Diana was compelled to promise.

"But I won't marry you," she added, wickedly, the moment she was free. And then to save herself from a second undignified surrender she had to capitulate quickly, and add, "At least, not before next week."

Then she raised her eyes, shining with happiness, to his. "Meinheer van Hert, if my memory serves me rightly, you have not yet asked me the most important question of all."

He raised her hand again to his lips, with a movement of reverence, and said, very simply, "Diana, I love you with all my heart and soul and strength; will you do me the honour to become my wife?"

And there was a little warm glisten in her eyes as she answered, "Yes, dear; I am ready to take the long trek with you."

A little later she went home with an air of quiet radiance that told Meryl all she needed to know the moment she set eyes on her, and her embrace was full of warmest affection.

Only Aunt Emily seemed thoroughly perplexed, and not able to entirely grasp the happy aspect of affairs when she heard it all for the first time.

"How extraordinary!..." she exclaimed; and then, with an air full of mournful reproach, she looked at Diana and added, "I told you something dreadful would happen, my dear, if you spoke of the wedding so strangely."

"Yes, aunty, so you did! and it was very clever of you," Diana replied. "But, of course, you ought to have warned me before I said it. Now, you see, I've got caught in the net myself. Ah well!..." she finished comically, "I can bear it."

And Meryl's low laughter, as she hastened to soothe poor Aunt Emily's wounded feelings, had a happier note than it had known for many a day.

"I don't think I quite understand," continued the perplexed lady. "It reminds me of a story I once heard about the aunt of a friend of my father's, that is to say, the aunt of a friend of your grandfather's...."

"Yes, I remember," said the incorrigible; "but she didn't do it in the end, you know. And, anyhow, the great question just now is, having taken over the bridegroom, ought I to take over the wedding presents as well?..."

"Of course, they must all be sent back," Aunt Emily replied, with great gravity. "Dear me, what a pity!... What a pity!... And he is really quite a nice man, although he is Dutch."

"O, do you really think so?..." Diana asked, and went laughing out of the room.