She laughed again, drawing herself back from him. "But, Jack darling, a woman doesn't marry a man just because he's not objectionable, does she? I always said I wouldn't marry him, didn't I?"
"You might do a lot worse," said Jack.
"Of course I might—heaps worse. But that isn't the point. I think he's quite a good sort—in his own sardonic way. And he is a great friend of yours, too, isn't he? That fact would count vastly in his favour if I thought of marrying at all. But, you see—I don't."
"I call that uncommon hard on Fletcher," observed Jack.
She opened her blue eyes very wide. "My dear man, why?"
"After waiting for you all this time," he explained, suffering his arms to fall away from her.
She still gazed at him in astonishment. "Jack! But I never asked him to wait!"
He turned from her with a shrug of the shoulders. "No, but I did."
"You did? Jack, what can you mean?"
Jack stooped to feel one of his animal's hocks. He spoke without looking at her. "It's been my great wish—all this time. I've been deuced anxious about you often. Australia isn't the place for unprotected girls—at least, not out in the wilds. I've seen—more than enough of that. And you're no wiser than the rest. You lost your head once—over a rotter. You might again. Who knows?"