me give you a little
piece of advice. From what I have seen this afternoon this is evidently
not the sort of place for a young lady to be walking in alone and after
dark. I don't think I would risk it again if I were you."

She looked at me for a moment and then said:

"You are quite right. I have only myself to thank for my misfortune. I
met a friend and walked across the green with her; I was on my way back
to my carriage--which is waiting for me outside--when I met those men.
However, I can promise you that it will not happen again. I am leaving
Sydney in a day or two."

Somehow, when I heard that, I began to feel glad I was booked to leave
the place too. But of course I didn't tell her so.

"May I see you safely to your carriage?" I said at last. "Those fellows
may still be hanging about on the chance of overtaking you."

Her courage must have come back to her, for she looked up into my face
with a smile.

"I don't think they will be rude to me again, after the lesson you have
given them. But if you will walk with me I shall be very grateful."

Side by side we proceeded down the path, through the gates and out into
the street. A neat brougham was drawn up alongside the kerb, and towards
this she made her way. I opened the door and held it for her to get in.
But before she did so she turned to me and stretched out her little
hand.

"Will you tell me your name, that I may know to whom I am indebted?"

"My name is Hatteras. Richard Hatteras, of Thursday Island, Torres
Straits. I am staying at the _Quebec_."

"Thank you, Mr. Hatteras, again and again. I shall always be grateful to
you for your gallantry!"

This was attaching too much importance to such a simple action, and I
was about to tell her so, when she spoke again: "I think I ought to let
you know who I am. My name is Wetherell, and my father is the Colonial
Secretary. I'm sure he will be quite as grateful to you as I am.
Good-bye."

She seemed to forget that we had already shaken hands, for she extended
her own a second time. I took it and tried to say something polite, but
she stepped into her carriage and shut the door before I could think of
anything, and next moment she was being whirled away up the street.

Now old fogies and disappointed spinsters can say what they please about
love at first sight. I'm not a romantic sort of person--far from it--the
sort of life I had hitherto led was not of a nature calculated to foster
a belief in that s