I bear it badly.’  And, indeed, he had a most amazing disposition to lapse into tears The disposition was never near to mastering him, but there it was.

She saw his agitation, and it warmed the mothering feeling which, though still a child in heart and years his junior, she had long felt for the big, strong, friendless youngster.

‘You will take this, won’t you?  I intend it as a little keepsake.’

She proffered a small gold locket somewhat shyly, and blushed deeply when he opened it and discovered a tiny miniature of herself.  He was pleased to have it, and told her so in a graceless way.

‘Do you mean to go ashore at once?’ she asked presently.

‘Yes; just as soon as I can.’

‘Mrs. Macdougal is ready, and I suppose we leave the ship immediately.’

He took her small hand in his.  ‘Good-bye,’ he said.  He longed to hold her in his arms again.

‘Good-bye,’ she whispered.

’I hope you’ll find things easy for you out there, and that you will be happy.’

’I think I shall.  I am going to try hard for happiness—­to be as happy as I once was.  Say you will try too.’

He looked at the wide sweep of blue sky, and the new land swathed in a golden atmosphere of glorious sunshine and more glorious hopes, and did not smile at her idea of happiness recoverable by distraint.

Mrs. Macdougal bustled up.  She had brought dresses from Europe with the object of prostrating what little feminine society there was in the neighbourhood of Boobyalla, and wore one of them now.  If her colour was not all natural, it was a very excellent imitation.  She looked charming.

‘Sure you are quite ready, my dear?’ she said.  ’Macdougal will be waiting.  Macdougal of Boobyalla, you know.’  This to Jim:  ’And he’s a most impatient wretch.  Saying au revoir?’ she queried archly, after a pause.

‘I was bidding Mr. Done good-bye,’ said Lucy.

‘It is very sad, parting with old friends,’ murmured Mrs. Macdougal, with veiled eyes.

‘Sadder parting with new ones,’ replied Jim, glancing towards Lucy.

’Oh yes, it is, is it not?  But you will come and visit us some time at Boobyalla.  We are shipmates, and that’s a sort of relationship in Australia.’

Done thanked her, but equivocated.  He could not see himself as the guest of the great Donald Macdougal, J.P., of Boobyalla.  The lady experienced a glow of impatience.  Only a hobbledehoy could prefer Lucy Woodrow’s immature charms to the ripe perfections of a woman of her years.

VI