‘I’m very much obliged to your mother for letting you come, Tottie, and I am very glad to see you at Rainbar,’ said Mr. Neuchamp. ‘If you go into the dining-room, you will find the lunch on the table; I daresay you will have an appetite after your ride. You can clear it away by and by, and Miss Neuchamp will tell you anything she wishes you to do. You will live in the cottage, and you must help old Johnny as well as you can, without quarrelling with him—you know his temper—or letting him bully you.’ Tottie was about to say, ‘I’m not afraid of the old tinker,’ but, remembering Mr. Banks’s advice, replied meekly, ‘Yes, sir; thank you, Mr. Neuchamp,’ and retired to her lunch and duties. ‘I suppose that is a sample of your peasantry,’ said Miss Neuchamp, with cold preciseness of tone. ‘Do you generally shake hands with your housemaids in the colonies? I suppose it must be looked for in a democracy.’ ‘Well, Tottie Freeman isn’t exactly a peasant,’ explained Ernest mildly. ‘We haven’t any of the breed here. She is a farmer’s daughter, and her proud sire has or had an acreage that would make him a great man at fair and market in England. You will find her a good-tempered, honest girl, not afraid of work, as we say here, and as she is your only possible attendant, you must make the best of her.’ ‘Is she to join us at table?’ inquired Miss Neuchamp, with the same fixed air of indifference. ‘Of course I only ask for information.’ ‘She will fare as we do, but will take her refection after we have completed ours. She cannot very well be sent to the kitchen.’ ‘Why not?’ demanded Miss Augusta. ‘For reasons which will be apparent to you, my dear Augusta, after your longer stay in Australia. But principally because there are only men there at present, and our old cook is not a suitable companion for a young girl.’ ‘Very peculiar household arrangements,’ said Miss Neuchamp, ‘but I suppose I shall comprehend in time.’ CHAPTER XXV Having communicated this sentiment in a tone which did not conduce to the lighter graces of conversation, Miss Neuchamp resumed her reading. Silence, the ominous oppressive silence of those who do not wish to speak, reigned unbroken for a while. At length, lifting her head as if the thought had suddenly struck her, she said, ‘I cannot think why you did not buy a station nearer to town, where you might have lived in a comparatively civilised way.’ ‘For the very sufficient reasons that there is never so much money to be made at comfortable, highly improved stations, and the areas of land are invariably smaller.’ ‘Then you have come to regard money as everything? Is this the end of the burning philanthropy, and all that sort of thing?’ ‘You are too quick in your conclusions, my dear Augusta,’ replied Mr. Neuchamp, somewhat hurt. ‘It is necessary, I find, to make some money to ensure the needful independence of position without which philanthropical or other projects can scarcely be carried out.’