son why.

Their talk skimmed the surface of vital things--the new awakening in
England; the threatenings of a socialistic upheaval; his individual
aims and ideas--she recognised her own inspirations. He spoke of his
political ambitions. Suddenly she said:

'I wonder why you made the break of coming out to Australia--why you
did not stay in England and follow on your career?'

'There are bonds stronger than cart ropes which may drag a man by force
from the path he has marked out for himself. Surely you must
understand?'

'Really, Mr Maule.'

'Why will you be so formal!' he interrupted impetuously. 'It is absurd.
Women nowadays always call men they know well by a PETIT NOM.'

'Do I know you well! I often think I never knew you at all.'

'That is what Lady Tallant used to say to me, latterly, about you and
myself--that we never really knew each other.'

'Oh, poor Rosamond! It makes me miserable to think of her. You became
friends, then--latterly?'

'She was very nice to me when she came back from Leichardt's Land. And
besides, she was anxious for me to come out to Luke and help him a
bit.... She told me about your marriage. She knew I could settle to
nothing--of course, the world in general thought it was because of that
tragedy--my wife's death--and the child--you understand?'

Bridget nodded slowly.

'Lady Tallant knew the truth--that I was tormented by one ceaseless
longing--after the impossible. I fancy she thought that if I could
realise the impossibility, I might get over the longing....
But--Bridget, it's no use pretending--I did try to do my duty. I think
I succeeded, to a certain extent, in making my wife happy--but there
was always the same gnawing regret....'

'You must put all that out of your head,' she interrupted curtly.

'I cannot. A man doesn't love a woman like you, and, because she is
married to another man, put her out of his head--in two years or
ten--or Eternity, for that matter.'

She laughed joylessly. 'Eternity!' she scoffed.

They were in the veranda after luncheon, she swinging slowly in the
hammock, playing with a cigarette, he smoking likewise, scarcely
attempting to suppress the stormy feeling in his face and voice. For
her, the crude brown-grey landscape rose and fell with the motion of
the hammock, and jarred with the exotic memories he evoked. She had
been called back to the varied emotional interests of her girlhood, and
realised, in a rush, how deadly dull was life in t