To this, of course, Winslow made no objection.
“As to thanking me for having given ye a tip or two,” said Winslow, “don’t flatter yourself it is for your sake. It is all to the memory of the days I spent as steward at sea with your good old uncle. Did you send him back his fifty pounds?”
“I did, and interest with it.”
“That is right. That is proper pride.”
Archie and the Winslows spent a whole fortnight in Brisbane, and they went away promising that ere long they would once more visit the station.
The touch of Etheldene’s soft hand lingered long in Archie’s. The last look from her bonnie eyes haunted him even in his dreams, as well as in his waking thoughts. The former he could not command, so they played him all kinds of pranks. But over his thoughts he still had sway; and whenever he found himself thinking much about Etheldene’s beauty, or winning ways, or soft, sweet voice, he always ended up by saying to himself, “What a love of a little wife she will make for Rupert!”
One day, while Archie was taking a farewell walk along Queen Street, glancing in here and there at the windows, and now and then entering to buy something pretty for Sarah, something red—dazzling—for her black servant-maid, and toys for Di, he received a slap on the back that made him think for a moment a kangaroo had kicked him.
“What!” he cried, “Captain Vesey?”
“Ay, lad, didn’t I say we would meet again?”
“Well, wonders will never cease! Where have you been? and what have you been doing?”