“Or that old squatter who is rolling in money; that is about her dart!”
“Now I would not be surprised if it was that old shabby Professor she goes out with sometimes. Although she looks so clever she is no better than a fool.”
“Well, I wish the Professor, or whoever it is, joy of his bargain. And the boss has got no more sense than the others; he pretends her going will be a big loss to him, and offered to raise her wages; but she would not stop at any price, she said.”
“Then it’s the squatter right enough. Of course she would not stop if she had caught him. Men with ten thousand a year are not picked up in Sydney every day.”
Bertha, who had been a silent listener to this conversation, now came forward, and was received by her two helpmates with sweet smiles of amiability.
“How nice you look to-night, dear. Is it true you are leaving us?” asked Ruby.
“Yes,” said Bertha, “I’m afraid I must leave you. That old squatter does bother me so to go and see his station on the Barcoo that I am really tired of refusing.”
“So it is the squatter?” inquired Florrie.
“Oh, I don’t say that. There are those two young sporting men. I think one of those might be better, don’t you?”
“It’s a matter of taste, of course,” replied Florrie. “The squatter would make you a real lady, while those sporting fellows never come to much.”