“Poor Cousin Jack,” murmurs Glory to herself, as, recollecting the Brisbane affair, she thinks of the sight Abaddon’s face must have presented shortly after his having insulted Mr. Angland.
“Is that all, Cousin Lileth?” she asks aloud. “Oh, then I’ll never mention a word about the photo or about Mr. Abaddon Smith. Ha! ha! how funny it sounds, don’t it?” The young lady laughs merrily. “I only hope Mr. Angland,—ah! isn’t _that_ a nice name?—I only hope he will have time to stop here and have some tennis. He and I against you and Mr. Cummercropper, what fun! But he’s sure to rush away again. All the nice people do,” she adds, pursing up her pretty lips at the thought. Then suddenly turning to her father, she seizes his arm, and laughing and talking all at once, she drags him off to the cool verandah, where she lights his cigar for him, and chatters away about her most amusing recollections of the charming southern capital she has just left.
Mr. Giles and his fair daughter have not long been seated in the cane-chairs on the verandah, when the tattoo of an approaching horseman comes to interrupt their conversation.
The fox-terrier, Spot, who has been sitting silently in the darkness by his master’s chair, sleepily watching the red cigar end, as it pulses alternately bright and dull, rushes out to investigate matters; and presently all ten of the canine dependents of the station folk join in a vari-toned vocal notice of the advent of the equestrian.
At this moment Miss Mundella joins her relatives.
“That’s Jim back from the muster at Bulla Bulla, I expect,” remarks Mr. Giles.
“No, uncle,” says Lileth in a low, strange voice, “it is Mr. Claude Angland.”
Mr. Giles starts in his cane-chair, as its creaking back testifies in the shadows.
“Now, how _can_ you possibly tell? You can’t know that much, at any rate.”
“I can’t tell how I know, but it is he,” answers his niece in the same tones.
Glory does not say anything, but stands up ready to catch a first glimpse of the stranger, whoever it may be.
A few minutes more and Miss Mundella’s predictions are fulfilled; and ere a quarter of an hour has elapsed our young friend Claude is sitting down to supper with the station folk, after being formally introduced to all present, including Mr. Cummercropper, the high-toned and love-sick station storekeeper, by Miss Glory Giles as “My hero,”—a title which Angland in vain attempts to show he does not deserve, but one that enamoured youth intensely enjoys all the same.