"I would not be so sure. She knows all about me! my age, fortune, where Tom proposed, how much I pay my dhobi, and which of my teeth are stopped."
After a silence, during which they threaded their way among a horde of heavily-laden pack ponies, charcoal burners, and coolies—almost bent double under incredible loads of baggage—Mrs. Brander resumed:
"I'm so sorry for Barbie, her little white desperate face comes before me, if only I could have done something to snatch her from Colonel Harris, but Tom says, I'm always too ready to rush in, where angels, etc., etc. Aunt Fan is an angel,—but even she is afraid of those two women, that like the giants in the 'Pilgrim's Progress,' bar the road to Barbie's liberty. Uncle Fred is fond of Barbie, she is his favourite girl in all Madras, but he dare not interfere in other people's family concerns. He, however, goes about, telling everyone that he and James Harris are the same age!"
"Much good that will do Miss Miller!" scoffed her companion.
"Well, we are getting off our old bachelors. I suppose the next wedding will be Sir William's—he is older than Uncle Fred."
"What Sir William?—Sir William Bream?"
"Yes, our very own Sir William, with his extraordinary and imposing power of saying things, with nothing to say. Why do you look so surprised?" and her gaze rested upon him with impressive steadiness.
"You don't mean that Mrs. Villars would marry him!"
"I refuse to commit myself, I don't mean to say anything, except that Mrs. Villars will make a sensation in our Blue Mountains, and have a good time. Who is so absolutely free, and independent, as a beautiful rich young widow? at least, I hope she is rich——"
"Why do you hope that?"