“But his name, Lileth? Mundella’s such an uncommon name.”
“Oh, well, you see your Cousin Abaddon is so afraid of people taking him to be a Jew. He’s so sensitive to the rudeness of people, although he’s brave as a lion; so he always goes by the name of Smith when away from here. In fact, it is really absurd how few people, even about here, know his real name. I believe poor Abaddon, from what I can make out in his letter, took too much to drink one night, and insulted Mr. Angland dreadfully.”
“Poor Cousin Jack,” murmurs Glory to herself, as, recollecting the Brisbane affair, she thinks of the sight Abaddon’s face must have presented shortly after his having insulted Mr. Angland.
“Is that all, Cousin Lileth?” she asks aloud. “Oh, then I’ll never mention a word about the photo or about Mr. Abaddon Smith. Ha! ha! how funny it sounds, don’t it?” The young lady laughs merrily. “I only hope Mr. Angland,—ah! isn’t that a nice name?—I only hope he will have time to stop here and have some tennis. He and I against you and Mr. Cummercropper, what fun! But he’s sure to rush away again. All the nice people do,” she adds, pursing up her pretty lips at the thought. Then suddenly turning to her father, she seizes his arm, and laughing and talking all at once, she drags him off to the cool verandah, where she lights his cigar for him, and chatters away about her most amusing recollections of the charming southern capital she has just left.
Mr. Giles and his fair daughter have not long been seated in the cane-chairs on the verandah, when the tattoo of an approaching horseman comes to interrupt their conversation.
The fox-terrier, Spot, who has been sitting silently in the darkness by his master’s chair, sleepily watching the red cigar end, as it pulses alternately bright and dull, rushes out to investigate matters; and presently all ten of the canine dependents of the station folk join in a vari-toned vocal notice of the advent of the equestrian.
At this moment Miss Mundella joins her relatives.
“That’s Jim back from the muster at Bulla Bulla, I expect,” remarks Mr. Giles.
“No, uncle,” says Lileth in a low, strange voice, “it is Mr. Claude Angland.”
Mr. Giles starts in his cane-chair, as its creaking back testifies in the shadows.