ailed or ducked and
straddled; while shady walks followed the banks, where the whiplike
branches of the willows, showing shoots of tenderest green, trailed in
the water or swayed like loose harp-strings to the breeze.

All the houses that had sprung up round Lake Wendouree had well-stocked
spreading grounds; but Ocock's outdid the rest. The groom opening a
pair of decorative iron gates which were the showpiece of the
neighbourhood, Mahony turned in and drove past exotic firs, Moreton Bay
fig-trees and araucarias; past cherished English hollies growing side
by side with giant cacti. In one corner stood a rockery, where a
fountain played and goldfish swam in a basin. The house itself, of
brick and two-storeyed, with massive bay-windows, had an ornamental
verandah on one side. The drawing-room was a medley of gilt and
lustres, mirrors and glass shades; the finest objects from Dandaloo had
been brought here, only to be outdone by Henry's own additions. Yes,
Ocock lived in grand style nowadays, as befitted one of the most
important men in the town. His old father once gone--and Mahony alone
knew why the latter's existence acted as a drag--he would no doubt
stand for Parliament.

Invited to walk into the breakfast-room, Mahony there found the family
seated at table. It was a charming scene. Behind the urn Mrs. Henry, in
be-ribboned cap and morning wrapper, dandled her infant; while Henry,
in oriental gown and Turkish fez, had laid his newspaper by to ride his
young son on his foot. Mahony refused tea or coffee; but could not
avoid drawing up a chair, touching the peachy cheeks of the children
held aloft for his inspection, and meeting a fire of playful sallies
and kindly inquiries. As he did so, he was sensitively aware that it
fell to him to break up the peace of this household. Only he knew the
canker that had begun to eat at its roots.

The children borne off, Mrs. Henry interrogated her husband's pleasure
with a pretty: "May I?" or "Should I?" lift of the brows; and gathering
that he wished her to retire, laid her small, plump hand in Mahony's,
sent a graceful message to "dearest Mary," and swept the folds of her
gown from the room. Henry followed her with a well-pleased eye--his
opinion was no secret that, in figure and bearing, his wife bore a
marked resemblance to her Majesty the Queen--and admonished her not to
fail to partake of some light refreshment during the morning, in the
shape of a glass of sherry and a bis