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She now inquired with some condescension about Dick’s Australian life, and how he liked it, and where he had been, and how he should like living altogether out there. She congratulated him on his success (she called it “luck”), which she declared was in the mouths of everybody. On that he felt annoyed, and wondered if she knew any details, and what figure she would bid for some of, say, his first year in the local gossip market.

“Of course you will go back,” said the old woman with conviction; “all lucky Colonists do. You will find England far too dull and slow for you.” At this point Colonel Bristo and Mr. Miles came back, chatting. “I was saying,” Mrs. Parish repeated for their benefit, “that of course Mr. Richard will soon return to Australia; he will tire of England in six weeks; it is always the way. Mr. Miles is the happy exception!” with a smile upon that gentleman which strove to be arch with doubtful success.

“I never said I meant to make ‘Home’ my home,” said the Australian, with the drawl of his race, but in tones mellow and musical. His long frame sank with graceful freedom into a chair beside Mrs. Parish, and his clear blue eyes beamed upon them all all except Dick, whom he forgot to notice just then.