With the quickness with which some young ladies recognise a would-be suitor, she had already seen (or thought she saw) that Harland had a fancy for her, and was not displeased with the idea. Her superior education had had the usual effect. It had opened her eyes to the inferiority of her parents, and infused a desire to rise above them. Beyond all things, she was determined to marry a ‘_swell_.’ She set her face resolutely against all stock-riders, or sheep-farmers, or bush gentlemen whatever. She wanted to marry some one who would take her back to England to settle, and Mr Harland was the very man to suit her. She thought him very good-looking (which undoubtedly he was), and perfect in his manner of address, and was ready to credit him, in addition, with all the minor virtues which are supposed to make the happiness of a married life. So when he spoke so meaningly to her concerning his jealousy of Vernon Blythe, she did not affect ignorance of his meaning, but took his excuse as a matter of course. ‘Well, I am glad you are penitent, at all events,’ she answered gaily, ‘for you have no real cause for ill-humour. You must be a terrible tyrant, if you forbid your friends talking to any one but yourself.’ ‘Ah! my _friends_ can do as they choose,’ he said significantly, ‘it is only _you_ whom I would guard from all evil, as a miser guards his treasure. But perhaps you will be angry to hear me say so.’ ‘Well, I don’t think you have any _right_ to speak to me in that way, Mr Harland,’ replied Grace, looking down. ‘Give me the right, then, Grace,’ he whispered, bending over her chair. ‘Let me feel that when you are even speaking to others you are thinking of me, and I will cast all my wretched jealousy from me like some unholy thing.’ ‘Oh, Mr Harland, how _can_ I? Remember how short a time we have known each other. Barely six weeks.’ ‘It has been long enough to bind me to you for ever.’ ‘But I am not of age, you know. I have no power to decide such a question for myself. My father is the proper person to speak to about it. And I feel sure--_quite_ sure--that he would say it is a great deal too soon.’ ‘Then, don’t speak to him just yet, Grace. Let us keep our little secret till we get to Tabbakooloo. Only tell me one thing--that if Mr and Mrs Vansittart give their consent to it, you will be my wife.’ Grace blushed very becomingly as she answered in the affirmative. ‘Only, Mr Harland, I must make one condition--’ ‘Oh, don’t call me “Mr Harland.” Say “Godfrey,” that I may feel you really look upon me as your own property.’