?"

"Oh, yes. You wouldn't ride without them."

"And do you take a maid to look after them?"

"Well, you must have a maid."

"And when you travel on the Continent, do you take a maid?"

"I always took one."

"What is Paris like? Isn't it just a dream? Did you go to the
opera?--Have you been on the Riviera?--Oh, do tell me about those
places--is it like you read about in books?--all beautiful, well-dressed
women and men with nothing to do--and did you go to Monte Carlo?"

This was all poured out in a rush of words; but in Mary's experience the
Continent was merely a place where the Continentals got the better of
the English, and she said so.

"Travelling is so mixed up with discomfort, that it loses half its
plumage," she said. "I'll tell you all I can about Paris some other
time. Now you tell me," she went on, folding carefully a silk blouse and
putting it in a drawer, "are there any neighbours here? Will anyone come
to call?"

"I'm afraid you'll find it very dull here," said Ellen. "There are no
neighbours at all except Poss and Binjie, two young fellows on the next
station. The people in town are just the publicans and the storekeeper,
and all the selectors around us are a very wild lot. Very few strangers
come that we can have in the house. They are nearly all cattle and sheep
buyers, and they are either too nervous to say a word, or they talk
horses. They always come just after mealtime, too, and we have to get
everything laid on the table again--sometimes we have ten meals a day in
this house. And the swagmen come all day long, and Mrs. Gordon or I have
to go and give them something to eat; there's plenty to do, always. So
you see, there are plenty of strangers, but no neighbours."

"What about Mr. Blake?" said Miss Grant. "Isn't he a neighbour?"

It would have needed a much quicker eye than Mary's to catch the
half-involuntary movement Ellen Harriott made when Blake's name was
mentioned. She flashed a look of enquiry at the heiress that seemed to
say, "What interest do you take in Mr. Blake? What is he to you?"

Then the long eyelashes shut down over the dark eyes again, and with an
air of indifference she said--

"Oh Mr. Blake? Of course I know him. I dance with him sometimes at the
show balls, and all that. I have been out for a ride with him, too. I
think he's nice, but Hugh and Mrs. Gordon won't ask him here because he
belongs to the selectors, and his mother was a Miss Donohoe. He takes
up the