“Yes, I am.”

“Well, miss, please remember me most kindly to yer pa; he was a good boss was Dick Melvyn.  I hope he’s doin’ well.  I’m Billy Haizelip, brother to Mary and Jane.  You remember Jane, I s’pose, miss?”

I hadn’t time to say more than promise to send his remembrances to my father, for Mr Hawden, saying we would be in the dark, had whipped his horses and was bowling off at a great pace, in less than two minutes covering a rise which put Gool-Gool out of sight.  It was raining a little, so I held over us the big umbrella, which grannie had sent, while we discussed the weather, to the effect that rain was badly needed and was a great novelty nowadays, and it was to be hoped it would continue.  There had been but little, but the soil here away was of that rich loamy description which little water turns to mud.  It clogged the wheels and loaded the break-blocks; and the near side horse had a nasty way of throwing his front feet, so that he deposited soft red lumps of mud in our laps at every step.  But, despite these trifling drawbacks, it was delightful to be drawn without effort by a pair of fat horses in splendid harness.  It was a great contrast to our poor skinny old horse at home, crawling along in much-broken harness, clumsily and much mended with string and bits of hide.

Mr Hawden was not at all averse to talking.  After emptying our tongues of the weather, there was silence for some time, which he broke with, “So you are Mrs Bossier’s grand-daughter, are you?”

“Not remembering my birth, I can’t swear; but I believe myself to be that same, as sure as eggs is eggs,” I replied.

He laughed.  “Very good imitation of the coach-driver.  But Mrs Bossier’s grand-daughter!  Well, I should smile!”

“What at?”

“Your being Mrs Bossier’s grand-daughter.”

“I fear, Mr Hawden, there is a suspicion reverse of complimentary in your remark.”

“Well, I should smile!  Would you like to have my opinion of you?”

“Nothing would please me more.  I would value your opinion above all things, and I’m sure—­I feel certain—­that you have formed a true estimate of me.”

At any other time his conceit would have brought upon himself a fine snubbing, but today I was in high feather, and accordingly very pleasant, and resolved to amuse myself by drawing him out.

“Well, you are not a bit like Mrs Bossier or Mrs Bell; they are both so good-looking,” he continued.

“Indeed!”

“I was disappointed when I saw you had no pretensions to prettiness, as there’s not a girl up these parts worth wasting a man’s affections on, and I was building great hopes on you.  But I’m a great admirer of beauty,” he twaddled.

“I am very sorry for you, Mr Hawden.  I’m sure it would take quite a paragon to be worthy of such affection as I’m sure yours would be,” I replied sympathetically.

“Never mind.  Don’t worry about it.  You’re not a bad sort, and think a fellow could have great fun with you.”