She was standing, as she stood throughout the subsequent proceedings, a silent spectator, irritating him by the mere fact that she was so absolutely impassive. When the time came for her to sign the formal documents which made Waroona Downs hers, Wallace placed a chair at the table; but she ignored it, bending down gracefully as she signed her name in beautifully flowing characters.
Old Dudgeon's hands, knotted and stiff with many a day's toil, were not familiar with the pen. As he laboured with the coarse, splodgy strokes which ranked as his signature, the sight of the delicate curves of the letters she had made fanned the flame of his wrath still higher. He also stood to sign, not because she had done so, but because he scorned to use a chair which belonged to his enemies. When he drew back from the table he saw how she had been standing almost behind him, looking over his shoulder as he wrote. A smile which he read as a sign of derision was on her lips and in her eyes.
He kicked the chair viciously towards her.
"Why don't you sit down, woman?" he exclaimed.
"Because I prefer to stand—man," she replied.
It was the first time he had heard her voice, and he started at the sound, wincing as, with one quick, furtive glance, he met her eyes again.
"Is that all you want?" he asked Wallace abruptly.
"Thank you, Mr. Dudgeon, that is all. Will you take the gold with you, or leave it for safety in the bank?"
"Leave it at the bank, eh?" he sneered. "No, thank you, Mr. Wallace, I trust you as far as I trust your bank, and you know how far that is without my telling you."
"Very good, Mr. Dudgeon. Will you watch it while it is being carried to your buggy? There are two troopers here who have acted as my escort from the head office. If you care to take them with you as a protection——"