the sunlit bush. The barest sand-hill on her father's run would have satisfied her so long as its contour came with a sharp edge against the glorious dark-blue sky; the worst bit of mallee scrub in all Riverina—with the fierce sun gilding the leaves—would have presented a more cheery prospect than this one on the banks of the renowned (but overrated) Thames. So thought Gladys; and her morning passed without aim or occupation, but with many sad reflections and bewildering conjectures, and in complete solitude; for Lady Bligh was upstairs in her little room, and everybody else was in town. Nor did luncheon enliven matters in the least. It was virtually a silent, as it was certainly a disagreeable, tête-à-tête.
And yet, though Lady Bligh went up again to her little room without so much as inquiring into her daughter-in-law's plans for the afternoon, neither was she without a slight twinge of shame herself.
'But I could not help it!' Lady Bligh exclaimed to herself more than once—so often, in fact, as to prove conclusively that she could have helped it. 'I could not help it—indeed I could not. Once or twice I did try to say something—but there, I could not do it!
