"Really, Reg, I think you ought to control yourself in this lady's presence, and not be too strong in your expressions," said Hal, going to him.
"Stay, Mr. Morris," said May, rising. "You are quite right in every word you have said about me. It is quite enough to convince me you are in earnest and, to show my belief I will read that letter."
Reg passed it to her, without a word, and she read aloud:
"Melbourne,
"Sunday.
"My own darling Wyck,
"Your poor little Kitty is crying and fretting for you; come back to her, my darling. I received your last letter, and roared over the contents. What fun you must have had with that old chap Goody, and his daughter. I would have given anything to have seen the old fellow lying on the deck yelling. But I say, my darling, I'm not jealous, but I did not like the other part of it. What a hussey the daughter must be! You say you are going to take her yachting, and that's she's a proud sort. I guess she won't be so proud when she comes back. You are a terror for girls, but I won't be jealous, as I know you only love me. But be quick and come back. I forgot to say that two fellows looking like toffs have been enquiring for you, and from what I can learn they don't mean you any good. They tried to pump Dick, and he sent you a wire, which you will have had long ago. My dear boy, do be careful. I am rather busy, but your little wife sends you hundreds of kisses. Good-bye, my own darling,
"Your ever loving
"Kitty Harris."
May read the letter through calmly, without a tremor in her voice. There was a supercilious curl of contempt on her lips as she finished. She gave vent to neither grief nor rage, for she was made of sterner stuff than those of her sex who faint and give way under stress of disappointment. A change had come over her whole being, one of those subtle changes that a moment of crisis can produce. The fickle, light-hearted girl had disappeared, the injured woman came to the front. There is this peculiarity about Australian girls. Outsiders consider them empty-headed and frivolous, for they have a light, lackadaisical manner of spending their lives, but lying dormant beneath is a nature with a purpose which once roused is relentless in its desire for exacting satisfaction. May Goodchild was a typical daughter of her land. She had given her heart honestly and wholly to the man she loved; she found he had accepted it only to trifle with it and dishonour her. It was enough. There was no trait in her nature to lead her to repine; it was entirely controlled by a dominant desire to punish the traitor. Hal could scarcely believe that this stern, resolute woman was the same woe-begone inanimate girl he had interviewed. She examined the letter carefully, noting its date and post-mark, and putting it into her pocket, said: