.

.

We are all going together, cries Cloete, all of a sudden.

He rushes out, sends the woman a cup of hot bovril from the shop across the road, buys a rug for her, thinks of everything; and in the train tucks her in and keeps on talking, thirteen to the dozen, all the way, to keep her spirits up, as it were; but really because he can't hold his peace for very joy.

Here's the thing done all at once, and nothing to pay.