“Yes, I know. Mrs. Connellan called him the ‘lier.’ But I thought you didn’t seem to like him. Isn’t he nice?”
“I suppose so. His father was a gentleman—the police magistrate up here.”
“Then, why don’t you like him? Is there anything wrong about him?”
Hugh straightened his leaders and steadied the vehicle over a little gully.
“There’s nothing wrong about him,” he said, “only—his mother was one of the Donohoes—not a lady, you know—and he always goes with those people; and, of course, that means he doesn’t go much with us.”
“Why not?”
“Well, you see, they’re selectors, and they look on the station people as—well, rather against them, you know—sort of enemies—and he has never come to the station. But there is no reason why he shouldn’t.”
“He saved my life,” said Mary Grant.
“Certainly he did,” said Hugh. “I’ll say that for Blake, he fears nothing. One of the pluckiest men alive. And how did you feel? Were you much frightened?”
“Yes, horribly. I have often wondered whether I should be brave, you know, and now I don’t think I am. Not the least bit. But Mr. Blake seemed so strong—directly he caught hold of me I felt quite safe, somehow. If you don’t mind, I would like to ask him out to the station.”