Mr. Frankston had brought home with him Count von Schätterheims and Mr. Jermyn Croker, so that he and Mr. Middleton, having endless semi-stock and station lore to interchange, each of the ladies was provided with a cavalier. The Count, who had been informed by Paul that Miss Neuchamp was an English heiress of vast wealth, travelling to indulge her eccentric insular taste, paid great attention to that young lady, cutting in from time to time, to the speechless wrath and exasperation of Jermyn Croker, who renewed his former acquaintance with great success. The fair Augusta was entertained, and not wholly displeased, with their manifest admiration. As the verandah was voted by far the pleasantest place after dinner, the whole party adjourned to this invaluable retreat, where Paul and his friend were permitted to light their cigars, and all joined in conversation with unaffected freedom impossible in a drawing-room. ‘Sing something, my darling,’ said the old man, ‘and then, perhaps, the Count will give us that new song of his, which I hear all Sydney is raving about.’ As the rich tones of the grand Erard came forth to them, luxuriously softened by the intervening distance, Miss Neuchamp tasted a pleasure from which she had for an age, it would seem, been debarred. She did not herself perform with more than the moderate degree of success which can be attained by those who, without natural talent, have received thoroughly good teaching. But her training, at least, enabled her to appreciate the delicacy of Miss Frankston’s touch, her finished and rare execution, and the true yet deep feeling with which she rendered the most simple melodies as well as the most complicated operatic triumphs. Somewhat to the discomposure of the Count, who had commenced to believe the opportunity favourable, she rose, and with an expression of delight passed on to Antonia’s side. Miss Neuchamp had seen too many counts to attach importance to that particular grade of continental rank; and this particular specimen of the order she held in fixed distrust, derived from the recollection of comments to which she had listened at Rainbar. ‘_La belle Anglaise_ prefers music to your compliments, Count,’ said Mr. Croker. ‘_Chacun à son tour_,’ replied the injured diplomatist. ‘Dey are both ver good in dere vay.’ Whatever might be the Count’s shortcomings, a deficiency of self-control could hardly be reckoned among them. He twirled his enormous moustache, condoled with Paul and Mr. Middleton, and explained that his steward in Silesia had written him accounts of an unusually wet season. ‘Ah, dat is de condrey! You should see him, my dear Monsieur Paul: such grops, such pasdures, such vool, so vine as de zilks.’ ‘How about labour?’ said Mr. Middleton. ‘I suppose you are not bothered as we are every now and then with a short supply, and half of that bad?’