The ugly little man put down his book, and came forward holding out his hand.  He smiled as he came.  Ned was angered to see that when he smiled his face became wonderfully pleasant.

“Yes; I think we know one another, Miss Lawton,” he said, meeting them on the uncarpeted floor.

“I am so glad you are here to-night,” she replied, greeting him warmly, almost effusively.  “I recollect you so well.  And Ned will know you, too —­Mr. Geisner, Mr. Hawkins.”  Ned felt his reluctantly extended hand enclosed in a strong friendly clasp.

“Hawkins is the Queenslander we were expecting,” said Stratton cheerfully.  “You will excuse my familiarity, won’t you?” he added, laying his hand on Ned’s shoulder.  “We don’t ‘Mister’ our friends much here.  I think it sounds cold and distant; don’t you?”

“We don’t ‘Mister’ much where I come from,” answered Ned.  He felt at home already.  The atmosphere of kindness in this place stole over him and prevented him thinking that it was too “swell” for him.

“I don’t know Queensland much——­,” Geisner was beginning, when the farther verandah door was swung wide and the dark-haired little woman swept in, tray in hand, the train of her dress trailing behind her.

“I heard you, Nellie dear,” she cried.  “That unfeeling Josie was saying the cruellest things to me.  I feel as red as red.”  Putting the tray down on the table she hurried to them, threw her plump bare arms round Nellie’s neck and kissed her warmly on both cheeks.  Then she drew back quickly and raised her finger threateningly.  “Worrying again, Nellie, I can tell.  My word!  What with you and what with Arty I’m made thoroughly wretched.  You mayn’t think so to look at me, Mr. Hawkins,” she rattled on, holding out her hand to Ned; “but it is so.  You see I know you.  I heard Nellie introducing you.  That husband of mine must leave all conventionalism to his guests, it seems.  You’re incorrigible, Harry.”

There was a welcome in her every word and look.  She put him on a friendly footing at once.

“You have enough conventionalism to-night for us both, my fine lady,” twitted Stratton, pinching her arm.

“Stop that!  Stop, this minute!  Nellie, hit him for me.  Mr. Hawkins, this is Bohemia.  You do as you like.  You say what you like.  You are welcome to-night for Nellie’s sake.  You will be welcome always because I like your looks.  I do, Harry, so there.  And I’m going to call you Ned because Nellie always does.  Oh!  I forgot—­Mr. Hawkins, Mr. Ford.  Mr. Ford thinks he can cartoon.  I don’t know what you think you can do.  And now, everybody, come to coffee.”