Joan Gildea gave a little shudder.

'Don't remind me how old I am. There's the difference between a man and
a woman. My life's behind me: yours in front of you.'

'I don't know about that, Joan. I've had my spell of roughing it--
droving, mining, pioneering--humping bluey along the track--
stoney-broke: sold up by the bank and only just beginning now to find
out what Australia's worth.'

'That's what I said--you are just beginning. Roughing it has made a
splendid man of you, Colin: and who would ever believe that you are
four years older than I am. Colin, you ought to get married.'

'The Upper Leura is no place for the sort of wife I want,' he returned
shortly.

'I don't see that. It isn't as if you were going to stop there always.
When you're rich enough you can put on a manager. You've got an
enormous piece of pretty good country, haven't you?'

'One thousand square miles--and a lot more to be got for the taking--
mostly fair cattle pasture--now that we're going in for Artesian
bores. But it means capital, sinking wells three thousand feet and
more. It'll be three or four years at least before I can see a trip to
Europe--doing the thing in the way I mean to do it.'

'Must you go to Europe for a wife? Aren't Australian girls good
enough?'