Miss Browne came out, Miss Browne with her face shiny with recent washing, her hair almost tidy, the better of her two colourless gowns on her back.
’Very glad indeed to see you—very sorry to keep you waiting so long—hope you, your father is quite well—Bart, my dear, a chair—what are you thinking of, to let Mr. Stevenson sit on the step?—very sad about the war—Flossie, don’t tease Mr. Stevenson, my dear—quite a cool day—providential thing the drought has broken—hope you will stay to tea.’
These and sundry other remarks she delivered breathlessly, and at the end put her hand to her side and gasped gently.
’I shall be most pleased to stay, Miss Browne, if it will be putting you to no inconvenience,’ Mortimer said.
’Most pleased—most happy—an honour—who is so kind, so thoughtful—those English magazines—and she had never thanked him yet, and those delicious chocolates—too good of him; most glad if he would stay—uncomfortable house—unavoidable—bush, no comfort—he would understand——’
’He knows he’s not to take more than two helpings of butter,’ said Bart, with a twinkle in his eye.
’Bart, my dear—oh, my love—your mother—what would she say?—Mr. Stevenson—what can he think?—my dear—oh, my love,’ and the poor lady withdrew in hot haste, to hide the embarrassment Bart had plunged her into, and to laboriously prepare tea.
’I see your father’s come down generously,’ said Mr. Cameron, glancing up a moment from his papers. ’Matthew Stevenson—that is your father, of course—five thousand pounds, and more if wanted, to the fund for the Bushmen’s Contingent.’
’Yes, that’s the governor,’ Mortimer said. ’He’s red-hot on the war. I believe if he were five years younger, wild horses wouldn’t keep him back from volunteering himself. You must come up to Coolooli and have a chat with him over it, Mr. Cameron.’
But Cameron was deep again in the war correspondent’s letter.
Bart went off to feed the calves—Roly had vanished at the sound of Miss Browne’s footstep.
’Did you know our mother and Challis was coming home, Morty?’ said Floss.
’Bart just told me—yes, that will be very nice for you, Flossie. All will be well, now, won’t it?’ said Mortimer.
’Oh, you’re like the rest, are you?’ Floss said. ’Every one going to live happy ever after, eh? No, thank you, not me; I’m always going to hate them. They don’t get over me. No, thank you. I know them—bring me a doll, won’t they? and "There you are, Flossie darling, sweetest, come and kiss us." Not me. See my finger wet, see it dry, cut my throat sure’s ever I die, if I have anything to do with them. Stuck-ups, that’s what they are!’