“All right, Gerrard!” (men in the Australian bush do not “Mister” each other after a few hour's acquaintance) “we shall be here. And I'll send over to Boorala for three or four good men to help in the mustering.”
So Kate and her father had ridden away and left Gerrard and Knowles to themselves for a few days; and Gerrard and the dapper little overseer planned all sorts of improvements that were to be effected in the way of making Kaburie a crack breeding station.
As father and daughter rode side by side along the track back to their home, through the darkening shadows of the coming night, they talked about Forde and Aulain, Fraser resting his big brown hand on her knee, and looking wistfully into her face.
“And you see, my child, that I well know that there will come a time when you and I must part Some man——”
“Never, father, never! I liked Mr Forde very much, but not well enough to marry him, and part from you. And I kissed him, dad, when we said good-bye. Do you mind much? I couldn't help it. I felt that I must kiss him.” (Then tears.) “I thought I had better tell you, for I feel so horribly ashamed of myself.”
“There is nothing for you to be ashamed of, child,” said her father tenderly; “Forde is a man, and, as I told you, he would take your refusal like a white man and a gentleman.”
“He did. And I could not help crying over it.”
For some minutes they rode on in silence, then Fraser said:
“When is Aulain coming?”
“As soon as he is able to sit a horse, he said,” and then her face flushed. “I wish he would not come, father, and yet I do not like the idea of writing to him and telling him so—especially when he is ill.”