‘Oh, was Mr Villiers here?’ asked Gaston, idly, not that he cared much about that gentleman’s movements, but merely for something to say.

‘Lor, yes, sir,’ giggled Martha, ‘he’s one of our regulars, sir.’

‘I can understand that, Mademoiselle,’ said Vandeloup, bowing as he took the drink from her hand.

Miss Twexby giggled again, and her nose grew a shade redder at the pleasure of being bantered by this handsome young man.

‘You’re a furriner,’ she said, shortly; ‘I knew you were,’ she went on triumphantly as he nodded, ’you talk well enough, but there’s something wrong about the way you pronounces your words.’

Vandeloup hardly thought Miss Twexby a mistress of Queen’s English, but he did not attempt to contradict her.

‘I must get you to give me a few lessons,’ he replied, gallantly, setting down the empty glass; ’and what has Mr Villiers gone out into the heat for?’

‘It’s more nor I can tell,’ said Martha, emphatically, nodding her head till the short curls dangling over her ears vibrated as if they were made of wire.  ’He spoke to the dumb man and drew pictures for him, and then off he goes.’

The dumb man!  Gaston pricked up his ears at this, and, wondering what Villiers wanted to talk to Pierre about, he determined to find out.

‘That dumb man is one of our miners from the Pactolus,’ he said, lighting another cigarette; ’I wish to speak to him—­has he gone out also?’

‘No, he ain’t,’ returned Miss Twexby, decisively; ’he’s gone to lie down; d’ye want to see him; I’ll send for him—­’ with her hand on the bell-rope.

‘No, thank you,’ said Vandeloup, stopping her, ’I’ll go up to his room if you will show me the way.’

‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ said Martha, preparing to leave the bar, but first ringing the bell so that the crushed-looking waiter might come and attend to possible customers; ’he’s on the ground floor, and there ain’t no stairs to climb—­now what are you looking at, sir?’ with another gratified giggle, as she caught Vandeloup staring at her.

But he was not looking at her somewhat mature charms, but at a bunch of pale blue flowers, among which were some white blossoms she wore in the front of her dress.

‘What are these?’ he asked, touching the white blossoms lightly with his finger.

‘I do declare it’s that nasty hemlock!’ said Martha, in surprise, pulling the white flowers out of the bunch; ’and I never knew it was there.  Pah!’ and she threw the blossom down with a gesture of disgust.  ‘How they smell!’

Gaston picked up one of the flowers, and crushed it between his fingers, upon which it gave out a peculiar mousy odour eminently disagreeable.  It was hemlock sure enough, and he wondered how such a plant had come into Australia.

‘Does it grow in your garden?’ he asked Martha.

That damsel intimated it did, and offered to show him the plant, so that he could believe his own eyes.