“Why, it’s Sheila Maguire, from Bunjil!” said one youngster to his comrade. “Thought I’d seen her before, somewhere. Doesn’t she look stunning?”
“My word,” was the reply. “They say she’s been left a lot of money by old Barney, her uncle.”
“She’s a fine, straight, jolly girl, with no nonsense about her,” declared the first speaker, “a man might do worse than make up to her, if he had to live in the back blocks.”
“Why don’t you try the experiment?”
“Thanks, awfully! Hope I shall do as well—but I’m not ‘on the marry’ just yet. Want to see another Melbourne Cup or so first.”
There was no “marriage bell,” yet all went well without that obsolete summons. Every one turned up at the right time, not even the best man was absent. He came the evening before—a cool, unpretending person, very correctly dressed, and with “soldier” written all over him—in spite of the vain disguise of mufti. He was presented as Colonel Pelham Villiers, D.S.O., Royal Engineers, just down from Northern India. That he had “assisted” at such functions before was evident by the air of authority with which he put the bridegroom through his facings, and even ordered the bridesmaids about—“like a lot of chorus girls”—as Susie Allerton observed.
She had (she said) “a great mind to refuse to obey,” but after once meeting the look in a pair of stern grey eyes—hers were hazel—she capitulated. He took her in to breakfast, it was noticed, where they seemed excellent friends.
Punctually at three p.m. the drag came round with Edward Bruce on the box—behind such a team as only one station on the Upper Sturt could turn out. The leaders—own brothers—cheap at a hundred apiece, were a “dream,” as an enthusiastic girl observed, while the solid pair of dark bays in the wheel were scarcely behind them in value.
Out came the bride in travelling suit of grey, on the arm of “the happiest man in Australia,” as he had that day professed himself to be. Black Paddy noiselessly relinquished the rein of the nearside leader, a fine tempered, but impatient animal, and like one horse, the well-broken, high-mettled team moved off. The road was level, and smooth for the first half mile, then came a long up grade pretty much against collar, the team, at a touch of the rein, broke into a hand gallop, which they kept up easily until the crown of the hill was reached. There on the long down-grade—high above the river bank on one side, and scooped out of the mountain side on the other, the powerful leg-brake was applied, and the laden vehicle rolled steadily, and well controlled, until the level track of the river meadow was reached. There was a full quarter of an hour to spare when the railway station was neared, and with the luggage checked through to Menzies Hotel, Melbourne, and an engaged carriage for Imogen and himself, Mr. Blount decided that the first stage of matrimonial happiness was reached.