"
"What was the matter?"
"Alice Brentwood was the matter, I rather suspect," he said, getting
off his horse. "Hold him for me, mother, while I take the saddle off."
She did as requested. "And so they two are at loggerheads, eh, about
Miss Brentwood? Of course. And what sort of a girl is she?"
"Oh, very pretty; deuced pretty, in fact. But there is one there takes
my fancy better."
"Who is she?"
"Ellen Mayford; the sweetest little mouse----Dash it all; look at this
horse's back. That comes of that infernal flash military groom of Jim's
putting on the saddle without rubbing his back down. Where is the
bluestone?"
She went in and got it for him as naturally as if it was her place to
obey, and his to command. She always waited on him, as a matter of
course, save when Tom Troubridge was with them, who was apt to rap out
something awkward about Charles being a lazy young hound, and about his
waiting on himself, whenever he saw Mary yielding to that sort of
thing.
"I wonder when Tom will be back?" resumed Charles.
"I have been expecting him this last week; he may come any night. I
hope he will not meet any of those horrid bushrangers.
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