He was a darling. If it would not have been so utterly disloyal to Papa who really was the best father in the world she would have told him she would have loved to have him for a father. A father-in-law was almost a father anyway. She flung her arms round his neck and kissed him when he told them about the station. He liked that ... and yet, oddly enough it embarrassed him. He said: "Katharine, Katharine! My sweet little Katharine, I'd have given twenty stations for that." One didn't always believe all he said. That about giving twenty stations for a hug was just his way of telling you how pleased he was. Perhaps all of his stories weren't exactly true, but that didn't matter; he made them more exciting because he knew you liked them that way. He spoke her name oddly, slurring it, making it a mixture of Carolan and Katharine; there was a similarity between the two, and he had a curious way of rolling them into one. She loved him next to Henry and Mamma and Papa, and there really was no one like Marcus in the whole world.

Henry's mother she could never like, and she believed Henry's mother did not like her and did not really want Henry to marry her; Katharine believed she protested to both Henry and Marcus.

Not that anything would stop them. She and Henry were meant for each other; Henry was as sure of that as she was. When she had lain with her ear to the ground; when she had coo-eed over the bush, she had been on the threshold of a new LIFE. Well, she knew that now I His eyes burned when he looked at her. He was eighteen. Papa would say: "Good gracious! How very young!" But Papa just did not understand.

She could recall indeed she could never forget the wonder of that day when Henry ceased to think of her as a little girl, and thought of her as Katharine. It was the day he had given her the stock-whip, and that gift represented more than the mere adventure of a muster shared; it was the adventure of finding each other. She was fourteen then. He was fifteen, but he seemed a good deal older; he had seemed a man when she first met him, and he had been little more than eleven then. They were shy at first, and Marcus knew why! He watched them with amused tenderness, and encouraged them to love each other.

She was sixteen when Henry said he loved her. It was there in that spot where he had first found her, and how deeply she had been touched by that sentiment which had led him to tell her there! They had lain on the harsh grass, and she had heard his heart beating, where once she had listened to the thud of his horse's hooves.

He talked of their life together, and she saw the station they would share; she loved the life he lived; it was the only life for such as they were. Fresh air, sunshine, and a new life beyond the Blue Mountains where the town of Bathurst was beginning to grow, and where the land was good, with grazing for millions of sheep.

So they talked and planned, and made love and dreamed of the life they would lead beyond the Blue Mountains.

Margery watched her and saw the dreams in her eyes, and whispered: "Tell Margery ... Tell old Margery. Is it an elopement, ducky? You can trust old Margery.”

Katharine shook herself out of her dreams, and shook old Margery by the shoulders.

"Stop it, Margery! Isn't it bad enough? How can I hurt them! I love them. How can I be happy ... even there beyond the Blue Mountains with Henry ... if they aren't happy too! How can I, Margery?”

"A new home, eh, t'other side the Blue Mountains? I don't like the sound of that, ducky. Why not nearer home ?”

"Oh, Margery, don't be silly! We want to go there, and that's where the station is.”

"The station! What station?”

"Our new home. Oh, Margery, you've no right to make me tell. It's a secret...”

"There, there, dearie! A station miles away ... the other side of the Blue Mountains, eh?”

"It's wonderful land, Margery. Marcus ... People say it was well worth all the trouble to discover. It's fine land ...”

"Two little 'uns like you two 'ull want a bit of looking after, lovey.

What about taking old Margery along of you?”

"You wouldn't want to leave Mamma, Margery!”

"I might.”

"You wouldn't, Margery... after all these years.”

"There's things I ain't altogether pleased about in this house. I reckon it wants pulling down, and a fresh one built in a new place.”

"Why, Margery? Why?”

"I feel like it. And how d'you think I'd be liking it, with you eloping off to the other side of the Blue Mountains ?”

Katharine laughed and flung her arms round Margery's neck.

"Promise, not a word, Margery! Swear!”

"I swear!”

"Margery, if you were to break your word, I'd ... I'd get somebody's ghost to haunt you for the rest of your days." Margery shrieked and turned pale. Katharine laughed.

"Swear then, Margery... Quick!”

"I swear," said the old woman.

"And, Margery?”

"Y ... yes, Miss Katharine?”

"I'll see about it. We ... we'll discuss it. I think it would be fun to have you around. I must go down now, Papa will frown if I am not there to help them receive the first of the guests." She went to the door. Margery was still shaking; her face was the colour of cheese.

"Margery," she said, turning back, 'do you believe this house is haunted?”

Margery did not speak.

"You do, Margery. I know you do, and I know by whom!”

"Don't speak of it. Miss Katharine. It's better not to. You don't know...”

"On the contrary, I do know!" She grimaced mockingly.

"First Wife! That's it, isn't it?" She went out, slamming the door.

Margery could not stop herself from trembling. Ah, she thought, my pretty dear, you think you're clever! You think you're smart. You laugh at ghosts, do you! Well, there's a lot you've got to learn, me dearie. You don't know what happened to the poor sickly lady. Margery looked furtively over her shoulder.

"I was always fond of the poor lady," she said aloud, 'fond of her and sorry for her." She paused, as though waiting for some response. There was none, and she continued musing, Oh yes, me fine lady, you ain't so clever! Ah, but when you're seventeen you think you know life; you think life is all living snug in a nice cattle station, and making love in the sunshine. Oh no, me darling, it ain't all that simple. And he's such another as his father, I'll be bound, from what I've seen. He'll like the women and the women will like him. Well, it's a different way you've chose from your lady mother, and I hope you'll be happy. And I'll be there ... I'll keep you to that, me darling. I'll like to be there. I'll watch him for you, dearie, and then when you find love's young dream ain't as pretty as you thought, you'll have old Margery.

The candles were lighted in the drawing-room. It was bright with gay company, but how she longed for the shade of the veranda, and Henry, sitting close, leaning against one another whilst they talked of their home beyond the Blue Mountains! Mamma was watching her closely, and there was that hideous Miss Grant watching Mamma as she was always watching let, slyly, as though she knew something, as though she had caught Mamma doing something wrong.

Instead of candles she saw tall eucalyptus trees; their barks shone bright silver in sunshine.

"Waiting is silly." Henry had said.

"We can't wait, Katharine won't wait!”

Miss Grant sidled over.

"Why, Miss Katharine, how grown-up you're looking tonight! It seems only yesterday that you were but a little baby.”

Poor Miss Grant! Homesick and angry, despising everything in the new country because of her nostalgia for the old. One imagined her coming over with her father, Major Grant, years and years ago. How dreary!

Poor Miss Grant!

"Only yesterday!" she continued.

"I remember well the day you were born.”

"Do you? That is kind of you.”

Mamma was looking anxious. Dear Mamma! How lovely she was, but strained tonight! She looked as if she were trying to catch what Miss Grant was saying.

"Kind! Oh, dear me no! The whole town was so interested..”

"In my being born? I suppose they were interested in all the babies.”

"Not all, Miss Katharine. Not all! I said you were a very special baby.”

"I'm sure I was most ordinary really.”

Wouldn't it have been fun if Henry could have come tonight. She should have been bold and gone straight to Papa and Mamma and told them. Why should she not?

"You were a rather ... shall we say a much-heralded link baby!”

What on earth was the facetious little woman talking about? She probably adored babies. People who were never likely to have any often did. She thought of herself and Henry having babies... lots of them.

She smiled.

"Ah! You are amused. We did not think it exactly amusing!”

"I'm sorry," said Katharine.

"What did you say?”

Mamma came over.

"Katharine, Lady Greymore wants to talk to you. Over there.

She is waiting for you.”

Lady Greymore said: "Hello, my dear. I must tell you that you look charming tonight... charming ... La! How beautiful it is to be young!

Your dress is most becoming. Come, tell me, was it your own choice? Or did Mamma help you? I'll whisper to you that you'll love the London gowns. They would make anything here look positively provincial!”

Katharine murmured that she was sure they would.

"And you, my dear, would be a great success in London. Of that I am certain. They would love you because you are so different. And when they heard that you had come from Botany Bay, they would be so amused!