‘I daresay you will end in becoming a mere colonist, and marrying a colonial girl, after all your fine ideas. I suppose there are some a shade more refined than this one.’ Mr. Neuchamp stood aghast—words failed him. Augusta went on quietly reading her book. She failed to perceive the avalanche which was gathering above her head. ‘My dear Augusta,’ he said at length, with studied calmness, ‘it is time that some of your misconceptions should be cleared away. Let me recall to you that you were only a few days in a hotel in Sydney before you started on your journey to this distant and comparatively rude district. If you had acted reasonably, and remained in Sydney to take advantage of introductions to my friends, you would have had some means of making comparisons after seeing Australian ladies. But with your present total ignorance of the premises, I wonder that a well-educated woman should be so illogical as to state a conclusion.’ ‘Well, perhaps I am a little premature,’ conceded Miss Augusta, whose temper was much under command. ‘I suppose there is a wonderful young lady at the back of all this indignation. Mr. Croker said as much. I must wait and make her acquaintance. I wish you all sorts of happiness, Ernest. Now I must go and look after the _other_ young lady.’ When Miss Neuchamp returned to the dining-room she perceived that the damsel whose social status was so difficult to define had finished her mid-day meal, and had also completed the clearing off and washing up of the various articles of the service. She had discovered for herself the small room used as a pantry, had ferreted out the requisite cloths and towels, and procured hot water from the irascible Johnny. She had extemporised a table in the passage, and was just placing the last of the articles on their allotted shelves with much deftness and celerity, when Miss Neuchamp entered. Her riding-skirt lay on a chair, and she had donned a neat print frock, which she had brought strapped to the saddle. ‘I was coming to give you instructions,’ said Miss Neuchamp, ‘but I see you have anticipated me by doing everything which I should have asked you to do, and very nicely too. What is your name?’ ‘Mary Anne Freeman,’ said Tottie demurely. ‘I thought I heard Mr. Neuchamp address you by some other Christian name,’ said Miss Neuchamp, with slight severity of aspect. ‘Oh, Tottie,’ said the girl carelessly; ‘every one calls me Tottie, or Tot; suppose it’s for shortness.’ ‘I shall call you Mary Anne,’ said Miss Neuchamp with quiet decision; ‘and now, Mary Anne, are you accustomed to the use of the needle? do you like sewing?’ ‘Well, I don’t _like_ it,’ she replied ingenuously, ‘but of course I can sew a little; we have to make our own frocks and the children’s things at home.’