"Ever since," groaned Anthony; "while I have been dawdling on that cursed yacht. If I'd only known——"
"I don't see," said Sarah demurely, "what it has to do with you."
She was a little sore about his long desertion, and wanted to know what it meant before she permitted herself to be confidential.
He plumped down on his seat in front of her. "It has everything to do with me," he said; "everything. Sarah—I am going to call you Sarah from this moment—shall I tell you something?"
She looked at him, holding her breath.
"You must keep it a secret for a little while, until I know whether she will have me. I am going to ask Jenny to be my wife."
He met her eyes boldly, for he had made up his mind; and she, seeing him serious and determined, clasped her hands in a speechless ecstasy of gratitude to Heaven for its goodness to her.
Then he went home and wrote a letter.
"Dear Polly,—
"Many thanks for yours, which I got both together last night. We only returned yesterday, or I would have written before. I am glad you found all well at home, and that the kiddies were pleased with their presents. Give them my love. Tell Harry I will see about the buggy and the stores at once; the latter shall go up by goods train to-morrow. I suppose he wants the waggonette big enough to hold you all—something like the old one, only lighter. It might have been rather serious, that smash. He's too risky with his half-broken cattle and his fancy driving, and that Emily always was a fiend incarnate. If she belonged to me I'd shoot her.
"I didn't have such a gaudy time as you seem to think. I'm sure I don't know what I went for, unless it was to get cool, which there was little chance of in a boat so crowded. Lord Nettlebury made a beast of himself as usual, regardless of the ladies, who pretended not to see it just because it was Nettlebury. I told Maude they disgraced themselves more than he did, by their indulgence of him; but women are all alike—or nearly all. It was sickening to see them fawning over the disgusting little brute, who ought to have been pitched overboard.
"Danesbury is the best of fellows—mad on his little English fiancée, and with no eyes for anybody else. They chaffed him unmercifully, but he liked it. She has wonderfully improved him. He says they are going to live in the country when she comes out, and he's looking for a place in this colony not too fatiguingly far from town. He's in the right there. Melbourne isn't wholesome. I'm sick of it myself—that is, I'm sick of streets, which are the same everywhere, and of sea, and of men and women who make a child's game of life. I want a sniff of the bush air before I settle down, and I think I'll run up to you to-morrow night, when I've seen about Harry's commissions. We have hardly had a good talk since I came back, and the kids will be forgetting me. Our stepmother has been rather getting on my nerves lately; it will be a relief to be out of her reach for a day or two. And my liver (perhaps that's why I've been so bored) wants horse exercise after so much loafing. Hal and I will have some rides together, tell him. I suppose the poor little beggars have done school, and are in the full swing of holidays by now. They won't object to a few more toys for Santa Claus's stocking, I daresay. I will bring you up some fish in ice, if I can get them fresh enough.
"Yours affectionately,
"A. Churchill."
The writer of this letter posted it at the G.P.O. while spending his afternoon about town, buying buggies and Christmas presents for his sister's family, consequently it went up country by the five o'clock express, and Mrs. Oxenham received it before noon next day. No answer was expected or required, and therefore Tony was surprised and annoyed to get a telegram from her, just as he was thinking it time to change his clothes for his journey, to say,—