He broke off with a laugh, and the wonderfully vivid light that came
into his blue eyes made him look like an ardent youth.

'And you a democrat!' jeered Mrs Gildea. 'You, a champion of the
people's rights; you, an Imperialist in the broadest sense of the term!
Oh, I really must put you into one of my articles as a certain type of
modern Australian. In fact, Colin, that's what I wanted to talk to you
about.'

'All right, fire away. We'll drop the marriage question.'

'To be resumed later.' A quizzical look passed over Mrs Gildea's mouth,
and then, 'Oh, what a pity!' she muttered to herself.

'What's a pity?'

'Never mind! The English mail's in--as you may see. I'll show you what
Mr Gibbs says. He didn't like my last letter. He says he wants bones
and sinews, not an artist's lay figure dressed in stage bushman's
clothes. There, Mr McKeith, among your other cogitations on the subject
of women, you may try to realise that the mission of a lady special
correspondent is not all'--she looked round for a metaphor--'Muscat
grapes and pineapple.'

'Or cooked-up information from heads of departments; or got-up shows of
agricultural, mining and other industries. Or trips to the Bay to see
the model island prison in which our weary criminals rehabilitate their
enfeebled systems by cool sea-breezes and generous diet. Or ministerial
picnics to experimental cotton and sugar plantations the size of your