h houses as Marumbah Head Station in Australia."

His half-sister shrugged her shoulders. "You should see some of the
country houses in England, Thomas. And then another reason why I dislike
bush life is the utter lack of female society."

Gerrard raised his brows. "Why, there are the three Gordon girls at
Black River station, only ten miles away; they certainly struck me as
being graceful, refined girls."

"Mrs Gordon is not a lady, and makes no secret of it. Her father was a
fishcurer at Inverness, and before that a herring fisher."

"But she speaks, acts, and bears herself like a lady," protested
Gerrard.

"It doesn't matter--she is not one. How Major Gordon, who comes from
an old Scottish family, could marry her, I cannot understand. She was a
nursery governess, or something like that."

"Yet Gordon seems a very happy man, and the girls----"

"The girls are all very well, although too horsey for me. I cannot
tolerate young women bounding about all over the country after
kangaroos, in company with a lot of rough men in shirts and moleskins,
attending race meetings, and calling the Roman Catholic clergyman
'Father Jim' to his face. It's simply horrible."

"Well! what about Mrs Brooke and Ethel Brooke?" asked Gerrard; "surely
they are ladies in every sense of the word?"

"I admit that they are better than the Gordons, but Ethel Brooke is a
notorious jilt, and her mother has absolutely no control of her; then Mr
Brooke himself is more like one of his own stockmen in appearance than a
gentleman by birth and education."

Gerrard looked up at the ceiling--then gave up any further argument in
despair. "I'll tell you what you want, Lizzie," he said, cheerfully,
"you want about six months in Melbourne or Sydney."

"I detest Melbourne; it is hot, dusty, dirty, noisy, and vulgar."

"Then Sydney?"

"Of course, I like Sydney; but Edward never will stay there more than a
week--he is always dying to be back among his cattle and horses."

"I'll try my hand with him, and see what I can do with the man," then he
added,

"Now, let us get on with breakfast. Then we'll see this cubby house, and
I'll diagnose the bear's complaint."

As soon as breakfast was over, Mrs Westonley left the room to put on
her hat, and Gerrard stretched himself out in a squatter's chair on the
verandah to smoke his pipe. Presently he heard his sister calling, "Jim,
where are you? I want you."

"Yes, Mrs Westonley!" came the reply in a boyis