Mrs. Macdougal bustled up. She had brought dresses from Europe with the
object of prostrating what little feminine society there was in the
neighbourhood of Boobyalla, and wore one of them now. If her colour was
not all natural, it was a very excellent imitation. She looked charming.

'Sure you are quite ready, my dear?' she said. 'Macdougal will be
waiting. Macdougal of Boobyalla, you know.' This to Jim: 'And he's a most
impatient wretch. Saying au revoir?' she queried archly, after a pause.

'I was bidding Mr. Done good-bye,' said Lucy.

'It is very sad, parting with old friends,' murmured Mrs. Macdougal, with
veiled eyes.

'Sadder parting with new ones,' replied Jim, glancing towards Lucy.

'Oh yes, it is, is it not? But you will come and visit us some time at
Boobyalla. We are shipmates, and that's a sort of relationship in
Australia.'

Done thanked her, but equivocated. He could not see himself as the guest
of the great Donald Macdougal, J.P., of Boobyalla. The lady experienced a
glow of impatience. Only a hobbledehoy could prefer Lucy Woodrow's
immature charms to the ripe perfections of a woman of her years.

VI

JIM was the first off the Francis Cadman on the Monday afternoon when she
drew alongside the rough Yarra wharf just under Bateman's Hill, and when
he set his foot on Australian soil he planted one tendril of his heart