An Australian Girl. Catherine Martin

a memory you have!' said the girl, laughing. 'I remember now—we sat out a dance, and you told me about some signally talented yearlings, and this foal, who had such a brilliant pedigree—I am proud of him; I shall kiss the star on his forehead when I see him.'

      'You remember he has a star? You had much better let me take it to him—not that I would give it to him, though.'

      'Now, Ted, if you are too bold I shall return to my book.'

      'No, no, you wouldn't have the heart to do that. You can always go to your books while I am mostly three hundred and fifty miles away. How many months is it since I saw you last?'

      'Oh, two or three, I suppose.'

      'It was in July, nearly six months ago; and you then said you would most likely come to Laurette's in November. But you didn't. You wouldn't come to the Cup, and you wouldn't drop me a line to say you were glad about Konrad—all to avoid giving me a chance. Now, don't make your eyes big, as if you didn't take in what I say. Why don't you ask me what chance?'

      'Well, then, what chance?' returned the young lady, laughing, but with a heightened colour.

      'To once more ask you to marry me.'

      'Only once more? Then after that we may be fast friends.'

      'Not at all—we shall be man and wife.'

      'Oh, Ted! Well, I suppose we could hardly be both.'

      They smiled in each other's faces, but the young man soon became grave.

      'Stella, how often have I asked you to marry me?'

      'Do you mean counting from the very beginning, or since we have grown up?'

      'I don't think it's fair for you always to poke borax at me. Why don't you be serious?'

      'I don't like being serious. I have been to church once already. The proper way to spend a hot Sunday is to be like chaff that the storm carrieth away——'

      'What do you mean by that? Is it another parable?'

      'I mean to lie in a hammock in the west veranda, and think whatever idle thoughts choose to come into your head, or read your favourite poets, or listen to a bird on a branch hard by. Do you hear that white-breasted swallow in the top of the Moreton Bay fig-tree?'

      They were silent for a few minutes, and the liquid, melodious carols of the little minstrel filled the air.

      'But I would much sooner listen to you than to that little rubbish,' said the young man in an emphatic tone.

      'Oh, what bad taste! Wouldn't you like to know what it really feels like to float in the air like a sunbeam?' asked the girl mischievously.

      'He only flies and sings for his tucker—I can get mine without that. Besides, I would sooner be on the earth near you than anywhere you could mention. Stella, it was close to this very spot I first asked you to be my wife, when we were both of an age to marry. Do you remember it?'

      The girl looked at her companion with undisguised amusement.

      'I should think I did! You were barely nineteen.'

      'And you were nearly eighteen—a very good age for both, considering I had been left my own master twelve months before, with twelve thousand a year. What more did we want?'

      'A little wisdom, a little love, a little sympathy, and power of companionship—everything that we ought to have mutually.'

      'Do you mean that I didn't love you enough, or didn't know my own mind?'

      'But surely marriage is the sort of bargain which needs two to make it?'

      'Well, at any rate you refused me out and out then, and you were as solemn as if you were going into a convent. Larry always declares you were thinking of doing it then. I know you had a picture of the Virgin, and said she was our advocate, and talked about the soul and all sorts of Papist things—enough to make a Protestant's hair creep.'

      'Did your hair creep? And how did you know you were a Protestant? Because you never go to church, I suppose?'

      'That's neither here nor there. But now, do you remember the second time I asked you?'

      A quick wave of colour swept over the girl's face.

      'Ted, what is the use of going over all this?'

      'Well, I'll go over it—and you check me if I make a mistake. It was eighteen months later. We hadn't seen each other for nearly a year. You were in the garden when I came. Is that right?'

      'Yes.'

      'I saw your mother and told her I was going to try my luck again, and she said I had her consent and good wishes. The moment you saw me you asked if any gifted year-old colt had hit his leg, I looked so serious; and then you said: "Oh, you are going to be foolish again"——'

      'And you were, and I was still more foolish—for you knew your own mind, and I didn't know mine.'

      'Foolish! By George! when I think about you, and feel rather savage, I remember that once in your life, anyhow, you were good and sensible; and that's the day you promised to be my wife, and sat beside me in the arbour of Spanish reeds, with the scarlet japonica hanging on it in bundles.'

      'You certainly have rather a dreadful memory.'

      'Yes—you wore a cream-coloured dress like the one you have on now. I could tell you every word you said—and, by heaven! I could tell you, too, how I felt a week afterwards when I got your letter at Strathhaye breaking it all off, and saying it was a frightful mistake on your part.'

      'Well, Ted, do you want me to say again how sorry I am? Do you want me to grovel in the dust all my life because of that blunder? After all, you brought it on yourself by being so persistent when I was in rather a weak-minded mood.'

      'Weak-minded? You never were half so good before or since. And you had quite got rid of all that stuff about convents and Papists.'

      'You must not speak so disrespectfully of these things.'

      'Well, you know very well you may have any notions you like—as long as you have me.'

      'That is rather a strong bribe.'

      'I'll make it much stronger if you'll tell me how. You don't suppose it does a fellow any good to come a cropper like that, do you?'

      'Why, three months afterwards I heard you were going to be married to Miss Julia Morton. Why weren't you?'

      'I did try to like Julia—if it were only to vex you; but, by Jove! when she began to be in earnest, I found the shoe was on the wrong foot. You might be vexed for a day, but I should be vexed for all the rest of my life.'

      'What makes you think I would be vexed for a day?'

      'Oh, just because I've come to belong to you—in a sort of way—like that goggle-eyed owl and the little gold pistol hanging at your watch-chain.'

      'I use the little gold pistol to wind up my watch with, and the owl has sparkling ruby eyes into which I look in church when I am very tired. The one is useful and the other beautiful, you see, Ted.'

      'And I am both,' said the young man imperturbably. 'Besides, I can give you whatever money will buy—take you anywhere.'

      'But then, you see, you would be always there.'

      'Yes; and when I wouldn't be about you would nearly cry your eyes out. You may laugh, but women always get fonder of their husbands. Look here, Stella, you said "yes" once before; you'll have to say it again and stick to it. The last time I spoke to you you said you would think over it. You've had plenty of time. You're close on twenty-three. A girl should be married by that time.'

      'Or not at all. You seem to forget that many women never marry.'

      'But you're not one of them. Now, Stella, look me in the face and tell me, do you intend to be an old maid?'

      'Oh,