“No, I certainly didn’t. You have put an extraordinary amount of hope into me: I feel a different being.” He stopped, and a smile crept into his eyes. “Listen—aren’t your friends having a time!”
“Life must be so exciting on your great cattle ranches,” Mrs. West was saying. “And the dear little woolly lambs on the farms—such pets!”
“We understood you people over here prefer them frozen,” Blake said gently. “So we send ’em that way.”
Norah choked over her tea. She became aware that Colonel West was speaking to her, and tried to command her wits—hearing, as she turned, Mrs. West’s shrill pipe—“And what is a wheat-belt? Is it something you wear?” Norah would have given much to hear Blake’s reply.
“Delightful place you have here!” barked the Colonel. “Your father and I have been spending an agricultural afternoon; planning all the things he means to do on that farm—Hawkins’, isn’t it? But I suppose you don’t take much interest in that sort of thing? Dances and frocks more in your line—and chocolates, eh, what?”
“Then you’ve changed her in England,” said Harry Trevor suddenly. “Is it dances now, Norah? No more quick things over the grass after a cross-grained bullock? Don’t say you’ve forgotten how to use a stockwhip!”
“It’s hung up at Billabong,” Norah said laughing. “But you wait until I get back to it, that’s all!”
“Dear me!” said Mrs. West. “And you do these wonderful things too! I always longed to do them as a girl—to ride over long leagues of plain on a fiery mustang, among your lovely eucalyptus trees. And do you really go out with the cowboys, and use a lasso?”
“She does,” said Harry, happily.
“Your wild animals, too,” said Mrs. West. “It’s kangaroos you ride down with spears, is it not? And wallabies. We live in dear, quiet little England, but we read all about your wonderful life, and are oh! so interested.”