present him with it.

He threw away the butt end of Sir Luke's cigar when he joined her. For
several moments he stood watching her--the picturesque little figure in
its dainty frock, the grace of the small head with its crop of untidy
hair, the pale pointed face--chin resting in the cup of one flower-like
hand, red lips--the upper one like Cupid's bow--slightly parted,
strange deep eyes gazing across the dark expanse of river to the
scattered lights on the high land opposite. Above, the Southern Cross,
set diagonally, in the dark clear sky gemmed with its myriad stars.

There could be no doubt that Colin McKeith was in the grip of an
infatuation such as he had never known before in his life. It staggered
him. His breath caught in his throat and ended in an uncertain laugh.
He stuttered in sheer awkwardness.

'I--I say ... you seem to be up in the clouds. You've been awfully down
in the mouth--all through dinner. Won't you tell me? Is anything the
matter?'

Bridget turned and looked at him. Her eyes were softly glistening, her
lips trembled. He thought of her as of a child seeking sympathy in a
strange land, where nobody understood her and somebody had been unkind.
He was intensely stirred by her impulsive appeal.

'Oh! I'm worried. I'm so alone in the world. Nobody wants me--here or
in England either. I was just wondering if I couldn't go off and join
Joan Gildea.... But she wouldn't want me either, perhaps.'

He went closer, stooping over the balustrade. Magnetic threads seemed
to be drawing them to each other. He wanted to say, 'I want you,' but
dared not. He blurted forth instead?

'What is it? I'd cut off my right hand if that would be of any use to
you. Good Lord! That does sound cheek! Only--you know--I'm big enough
to bully the whole of Leichardt's Land from the Governor down--and I'd
do it if you wanted me to. Just tell me what's worrying you?'

'It's everything--the whole set of conditions from the day I was born
into them.'

'Conditions are easy enough things to break, if you're determined to do
it. Look here--talk it out.... you can trust me.'

Then she recklessly set the flood gates open--laughed with tears in the
laughter; drew a tragically amusing picture of her life--her anomalous
position, her dependence, her hatred of the pretences, the shifts, the
sordid bravado by means of which her impoverished Gaverick relatives
clung on to their social birthright, the toadying of the Dowager, the
worldl