"How does it seem to have one's seasons standing on their heads?"

She answered question with question. "Haven't you been out before?"

"No."

"I supposed you had taken the voyage any number of times. But about
the seasons, it doesn't count for much until you come to Christmas.
No England-born mortal can hang up his stocking in mid-summer
without a pang of regretful homesickness."

Weldon laughed.

"Do you substitute a refrigerator for a chimney corner?" he asked.
"But are you England-born?"

"Yes. My father went out only seven years ago. The 'home' tradition
is so strong that I was sent back to school and for a year of social
life. My little brother goes to Harrow in two years. Even in Cape
Town, a few people still hold true to the tradition of the public
school."

Weldon nodded assent.

"We meet it in Canada, now and then; not too often, though. So in
reality you are almost as much a stranger to Cape Town as I am."

"Quite. My father says it is all changed now. It used to be a lazy
little place; now it is pandemonium, soldiers and supplies going