ur room was up above.'

'Oh, it didn't matter. I'd lots to think about--my own shortcomings and
Luke's responsibilities.'

'He takes them--hard,' hazarded McKeith.

'I hope you gave him good advice,' put in Mrs Gildea.

McKeith's lips twisted into a humorous smile.

'Well, I told Sir Luke that I didn't think he need bother himself just
yet awhile over that northern tour of inspection he's talking about.'

'He wants to make a kind of royal progress, Joan, through the
Back-Blocks,' said Lady Biddy.

'It'll mean a bit of stiff riding,' said McKeith, 'but I've offered to
show him round the Upper Leura anyway, and to find him a quiet hack.'

'Rosamond flatly declines the Royal Progress,' said Bridget. 'I'm
coming instead of her.'

'Can you ride?' he asked.

'CAN I ride--Can any O'Hara ride! You needn't find ME a quiet hack.'

'All right,' said McKeith. 'But I wouldn't make sure of that by putting
you on a buckjumper. It's a bargain then, Lady Bridget.'

'A bargain--what?'

'You promise to pay me a visit when the Governor makes his trip
north--when he carries out his notion of establishing military patrols
and a Maxim gun or two to put down Trades-Unionism and native outrages
in the Back-Blocks?'

Lady Bridget looked at him thoughtfully. He had pulled out his tobacco
pouch and was filling a well-worn pipe. 'You won't mind my pipe, will
you--as you're a smoker yourself. Mrs Gildea likes it best--And so do
I.'

Lady Bridget sniffed his raw tobacco and made a tiny moue. 'Well, if
you prefer that--No, of course I don't mind. I see,' she went on, 'that
you favour the Maxim gun idea, Mr McKeith. I understand that you're one
of the Oppressors; and you and I wouldn't agree on that point.'

Mr McKeith returned her look, all the hardness in his face softening to
an expression of almost tender indulgence.

'We'd see about that. I might convert you--but in the Back-Blocks.'

'Or I might convert YOU.'

He shook his head, and then laughed in a shy, boyish way.

'There's no knowing what might happen--but in the Back-Blocks.'

Lady Bridget leaned forward. 'Tell me about them--Tell me about your
life in the Bush and what makes you hate the Blacks.'

'What makes me hate the Blacks?' he repeated slowly and the soft look
on his face changed now to one very dour and grim.

'You do hate them, don't you? Mr McKeith, the Premier told me something
about you last night, which simply filled me with horror. If I believed
it-