"Yes, my dear," he responded, with a jump, as if half-a-dozen needles had been smartly thrust into a tender part.
"What am I to wear this evening?"
"Your usual good taste, Maria," he commenced--
"Oh, bother my good taste!" she interrupted. "You know that we are to meet your brother to-night, and I am only anxious to do you credit. Not that I shan't be a perfect fright, for I haven't a dress fit to put on my back. If I wasn't such a good contriver, we should look more like paupers than respectable people. My black silk has been turned three times already; and my pearl grey--you ought to know what a state that is in, for you spilt the port wine over it yourself. Is your brother very rich, Nicholas?"
"They say so, Maria; he owns cattle stations, and thousands of sheep and cattle. He is a squatter, you know."
"A what?" she screamed.
"A squatter."
"What a dreadful thing!" she exclaimed. "What a shocking calamity! Is he always squatting, Nicholas?"
"My dear;" said Nicholas, amazed.
"Not that it matters much," she continued, not heeding him; "he may squat as long as he likes, if he has plenty of money, and assists you as a brother should. Thank heaven! none of my relations ever squatted. Has he been squatting long, Nicholas?"