As they approached the Rainbar homestead Tottie slackened this aggravating pace (which resembles what Americans call ‘racking or pacing’—it is natural to many Australian horses, though of course capable of development by education), and in a somewhat awe-stricken tone inquired, ‘Is she a _very_ grand lady, indeed, Mr. Banks?’ ‘Well, she’ll be dressed plainly, of course,’ said Charley. ‘The dust’s enough to spoil anything above a gunnybag after all this dry weather. Her things are coming up, as I told you, but you never saw any one with half the breeding before. You were a little girl when you came here, Tottie; did you ever see a real lady in your life, now?’ ‘I saw Mrs. Jones, of Yamboola, down the country,’ said Tottie doubtfully. ‘Father sent me up one day with some fresh butter.’ ‘I wish he’d send you up with some now,’ said Charley, who hadn’t heard of butter or milk for six months. ‘Mrs. Jones is pretty well, but think of Miss Neuchamp’s pedigree. Her great-grandmother’s _great-grandmother_ was a grand lady, and lived in a castle, and so on, for five hundred years back, and all the same for nearly a thousand. I saw it all in an old book of Mr. Neuchamp’s one day, about the history of their county.’ ‘Lor!’ said Tottie, ‘how nice! Why, she must be like the imported filly we saw at Wargan Races last year. Oh, wasn’t she a real beauty? such legs! and such a sweet head on her!—I never saw the like of it!’ ‘You’re a regular Currency lass, Tottie,’ laughed Mr. Banks; ‘always thinking about horses. Don’t you tell Miss Neuchamp that she’s very sweet about the head and has out-and-out legs: she mightn’t understand it. Here we are—jump down. I’ll put the mare in the paddock.’ Miss Neuchamp, having had time to finish luncheon, had walked out into the verandah with her cousin, when she was attracted by the trampling of horses, and looked forth in time to see her proposed handmaid sail up to the door at a pace which would have excited observation in Rotten Row. Mr. Banks awaited her dismounting, knowing full well that she required no assistance. The active maiden swung herself sideways on the saddle and dropped to the ground as lightly as the ‘hounding beauty of Bessarabia,’ or any ordinary circus sawdust-treading celebrity. Lifting her habit, she advanced to the verandah with a curious mixture of shyness and self-possession. She successfully accomplished the traditional courtesy to Miss Neuchamp, and then shook hands cordially with Ernest, as she had been in the habit of doing. Miss Augusta put up her eyeglass at this, and regarded the ‘young person’ with a fixed and critical gaze.