"This station? Arran Downs?"
"Why, yes; but I really can't think of putting you to any more trouble. I am quite well able to ride"
"Nonsense!" said Irralie. "Your horse isn't quite well able to carry you. What do you ride?"
"Fourteen stone or so."
"Then tie him on again, and jump up at once."
It was done with a shrug—and subsequent alacrity.
"Then you belong to this station?" said the man, reseating himself in the failing light. But Irralie preferred to regain the track in safety before replying; and the question was put again.
"Oh, yes! I'm the manager's daughter. I beg your pardon; now it's all right, we're in the straight."
"You are, then, a Miss Villiers?"
"I am."
"And you think nothing of driving about alone with a buggy and pair?"
