quite full--mostly of official Leichardt'stonians. Joan looked for the
new Governor and his wife, or at least for Lady Biddy, but none of them
had yet put in an appearance. A handsome, fair-moustachioed young
aide-de-camp, looking very smart in his evening uniform with white
lapels, was fluttering round, his dinner list in his hand, and
introducing people who already knew each other. He looked distinctly
worried, so did the private secretary--sallow-faced, of a clerkish
type, and obviously without social qualifications--who was also
wandering round and trying ineffectively to do the right thing. The
aide-de-camp rushed forward to shake hands with Joan, exclaiming in a
relieved undertone:

'Oh, Mrs Gildea, do help me. I believe I've made an awful hash of it
all. People out here,' he murmured, 'ain't used to viceregal etiquette
as she is interpreted in Ceylon--that was my last post you know. They
seem to think his Excellency ought to have been standing at the door to
receive THEM, instead of their waiting to receive HIM.'

Clearly, the aide-de-camp had failed to please, though he looked
spruced and his manners were beautiful. The Premier of Leichardt's
Land, a red-faced gentleman of blunt speech, was grumbling audibly to
the Attorney-General. Mrs Gildea caught snatches of discontent as she
passed from one to another.

'Damned impertinence, I call it. A salaried official, no better than
any of us, giving himself royal airs. . . . May do in India. . . won't
go down in a free country like this.'

The AIDE finished pairing his couples.