subaltern ejaculated a little warmly. 

 "You condemn a nation for a few. Young man, you haven't travelled far enough. And you make me tired to hear you talk in that way. You're a nice fellow spoiled, I reckon. Why, where I live there's dozens of English public school men working as cockies and jackaroos. They wouldn't go back home if you paid them. They like the life. Everybody makes them at home, and many of them have married our Australian girls. These women can milk, bake, ride, drive, sew and rear the most charming children. And they can meet you in a drawing-room with a natural grace that is their own. Intellectually, too, they are pleasant to meet, for the loneliness has given them time to think and read. Look at that girl there, doesn't she look a lady?" 

 "Yes." 

 "Isn't she absolutely perfect?" 

 "Well, yes." 

 "Does her dress fit?" 

 "Decidedly." 

 "Do you think her table manners are awkward?" 

 "No." 

 "Isn't there something easy and natural, no false pose, a sort of innate grace of mind and body?" 

 "Certainly, but is this not some strange exception, just as you find in many parts?" 

 "No, my boy. You still seem to be unconvinced. Hang it all, there's only one way to convince you. As they are rising from the table now, get up and I'll introduce you." 

 "Hallo, Sybil, how are you?" said the Australian officer going forward. 

 "What—Jack Gordon!" she said, shaking hands.  "I haven't seen you since I was at school." 

 "How do, Jack?" said old Graham, in his blunt way. Then Mrs. Graham accorded him the same warm welcome. 

 "Let me introduce Lieutenant Gore-Jones of the Yeomanry.  

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