“Well, what do you wish? Out with it.”
Tilly faltered and again blushed. Then:
“Nothing, ma’am. Only I wish I was like Mabel Storrie. She looked lovely last night-just lovely.”
For the second time since she had sat down, Mrs. Nelson stared hard at the girl.
“Don’t indulge in vain regrets, child,” she said softly. “You have got one beautiful feature-your eyes. Be careful of them; use them well but sparingly. Now be off. Be sure all the windows are shut andfastened, and that the blinds are lowered three-quarters. Slip down and ask James to come up. Stay in the bar until he gets back.”
“All right ma’am, and thank you,” Tilly said.
That brought Mrs. Nelson’s eyebrows almost together.
“Whatever for, child?” she asked.
“For… telling me about my eyes, ma’am.”
“Rubbish!” snorted Mrs. Nelson. “Be sure you lie down in your room for two hours this afternoon, or you’ll go to sleep waiting at dinner.”
Tilly vanished. She was a month or so over twenty-two, compact and sturdy. She possessed the lithe grace given to almost everybushwoman who since girlhood has habitually ridden half-tamed horses. Her constant use of the word “ma’am” was due less-much less-to any sense of servility than to an affectionate respect for the leader of Carie. Like all great men and women, Mrs. Nelson commanded affection mixed with respect.
She now went on with her breakfast, to which, however, she gave less attention than she did to the point where the track to Broken Hill crossed Nogga Creek.
Like a drop of ink, a horse and rider slid over the brown stained carpet of bluebush from the south-east to reach the right of the two Common gates. Behind the horse rose a long finger of dust-dust which became quickly merged in the as yet low-flying tenuous dust-clouds raised by the freshening wind.
The rider opened, passed through and closed the gate without dismounting, then urged his horse into a gallop once again. On arriving at the township he turned down beside the hotel to the stables and yards at the rear. Mrs. Nelson knew him to be Fred Storrie.