the storekeeper, and all the selectors around us are a very wild
lot. Very few strangers come that we can have in the house. They
are nearly all cattle and sheep buyers, and they are either too
nervous to say a word, or they talk horses. They always come just
after mealtime, too, and we have to get everything laid on the
table again--sometimes we have ten meals a day in this house. And
the swagmen come all day long, and Mrs. Gordon or I have to go and
give them something to eat; there's plenty to do, always. So you
see, there are plenty of strangers, but no neighbours."

"What about Mr. Blake?" said Miss Grant. "Isn't he a neighbour?"

It would have needed a much quicker eye than Mary's to catch the
half-involuntary movement Ellen Harriott made when Blake's name
was mentioned. She flashed a look of enquiry at the heiress that
seemed to say, "What interest do you take in Mr. Blake? What is
he to you?"

Then the long eyelashes shut down over the dark eyes again, and
with an air of indifference she said--

"Oh Mr. Blake? Of course I know him. I dance with him sometimes at
the show balls, and all that. I have been out for a ride with him,
too. I think he's nice, but Hugh and Mrs. Gordon won't ask him here
because he belongs to the selectors, and his mother was a Miss
Donohoe. He takes up their cases--and wins them, too. But he never
comes here. He always stays down at the hotel when he comes out
this way."

"I intend to ask him here," said Miss Grant. "He saved my life."