her a
tall light blonde, whom, on account of her much trimmed hat, I recognized
as the lady who had been sitting on the box-scat of the Beecham drag that
morning.

Joe Archer informed me in a whisper that she was Miss Blanche Derrick
from Melbourne, and was considered one of the greatest beauties of that
city.

This made me anxious to examine her carefully, but I did not get an
opportunity of doing so. In the hurry to attend on the party, I missed
the honour of an introduction, and when I was at leisure she was sitting
at some distance on a log, Harold Beecham shading her in a most religious
manner with a dainty parasol. In the afternoon she strolled away with
him, and after I had attended to the remains of the feast, I took Joe
Archer in tow. He informed me that Miss Derrick had arrived at Five-Bob
three days before, and was setting her cap determinedly at his boss.

"Was she really very handsome?" I inquired.

"By Jove, yes!" he replied. "But one of your disdainful haughty beauties,
who wouldn't deign to say good-day to a chap with less than six or seven
thousand a year."

I don't know why I took no interest in the races. I knew nearly all the
horses running. Some of them were uncle's; though he never raced horses
himself, he kept some swift stock which he lent to his men for the
occasion.

Of more interest to me than the races was the pair strolling at a
distance. They were fit for an artist's models. The tall, broad,
independent figure of the bushman with his easy gentlemanliness, his
jockey costume enhancing his size. The equally tall majestic form of the
city belle, whose self-confident fashionable style spoke of nothing
appertaining to girlhood, but of the full-blown rose--indeed, a splendid
pair physically!

Then I thought of my lack of beauty, my miserable five-feet-one-inch
stature, and I looked at the man beside me, small and round-shouldered,
and we were both dependent children of indigence. The contrast we
presented to the other pair struck me hard, and I laughed a short bitter
laugh.

I excused myself to my companion, and acceded to the request of several
children to go on a flower- and gum-hunting expedition. We were a long
time absent, and returning, the little ones scampered ahead and left me
alone. Harold Beecham came to meet me, looking as pleasant as ever.

"Am I keeping grannie and uncle waiting?" I inquired.

"No. They have gone over an hour," he replied.

"Gone! How am I to get home