'Mrs Gildea, you're to go in with the Warden of the University. Of
course you know Dr Plumtree? Literature and learning is an obvious
combination, but' (in a confidential aside) 'if you KNEW the job I've
had to find out the right order of precedence. Mr McKeith, the Governor
will be so glad to meet you. Will you take in Lady Bridget O'Hara?
She's not down yet. You see,' he explained again to Mrs Gildea, 'we're
strictly official to-night and Debrett's out of it.'

'So am I,' put in Colin McKeith. 'I guess that Lady Bridget would be
better pleased if she wasn't handed over to a rough bushman.'

'Now, there you ARE quite out of it,' laughed the aide-de-camp. 'Lady
Bridget asked specially to be sent in with you,' and at Mrs Gildea's
enquiring smile, he explained once more: 'Sir Luke was speaking about
Mr McKeith, said his name had been mentioned at a meeting of the
Executive yesterday. Oh! you're top hole, Mr McKeith, I assure you.'

The AIDE broke off suddenly.

There was a rustle of silk on the grand staircase--the slam of a door
above, the sound of a laugh and the patter of little high-heeled shoes
on the parquet floor of the gallery. The AIDE darted to the foot of the
staircase and all eyes turned upward.

The new Governor and his wife came down in slow and stately fashion,
arm-in-arm, Sir Luke looking very impressive with the Ribbon and Order
of St Michael and St George. He was a handsome man, clean-shaven but
for a heavy dark moustache, and carried his dignities with perhaps a
little too conscious an air--'Representative of the Throne' seemed
written all over him and no greater contrast could be imagined than the