CHAPTER VII.

DARRIWELL was one of the fine modern houses of the bush, which are everywhere superseding the charming agglomerations of rustic architecture in which our squatters dwelt when they were squatters; it would have been as suitable to any country as to Australia, save in the feature of balconies and verandas, which spread deeply all around it under the heavy colonnades. A regular country gentleman's "mansion" in its solidity of brick and stone, and lines upon lines of sash windows, and in the great stretches of speechless gravel and watered lawns, the mathematical terraces and flowerbeds, that lay around it. And the place was "kept up" as a place of that sort should be, except that Mr. Mackenzie objected to men-servants withindoors. The male domestic is difficult to get, and seldom satisfactory when you do get him. As with governors, bishops, and other imported dignitaries, the country does not suit him. He is not made for conditions so totally at variance with

the system on which he was brought up. A good housekeeper and half a dozen smart, light-footed maids are worth all the butlers and footmen that ever came here to turn up their noses at our ways of doing things-to those who care more for comfort than for show-and Mr. Mackenzie knew this, for he was a sensible man and an excellent manager.

There are certain men, methodical and particular, who can “run an establishment as well as a woman, if not better; and he was one of them. In fact, there had been irregularities in his wife's time that had fretted him sorely. Stores would run out; cooks would put loaves of bread and joints of good meat into the pig-tub; tradesmen's accounts would get confused; moths would find harbourage in the folds of curtains and dust in the buttoned puckers of arm-chairs and sofas. Since her death nothing of this sort had happened, because he alone had administered affairs. Only the best of well-trained servants were kept at Darriwell, where they were treated handsomely, according to their deserts; and every one of them was accustomed to feel the master's eye upon her. Mrs. Towers, the housekeeper, had no sense of loneliness in her high position, for every day she had her master's company in store-room and pan

try, and his sympathy in all her interests. He understood the mysteries of her department as thoroughly as she did, and was always ready with valuable suggestions. For such a master, of course, it was a pleasure to do things as they should be done. A mistress, who would be so particular, might not have pleased so well.

So Darriwell was a model house; and Nancy, when driving up to its great porch, the day before the ball, to enter upon her brief reign as its honorary mistress, thought it the handsomest she had seen in Australia. She was no more artistically cultured than nine educated people out of ten, and infinitely preferred it to the beautiful old bush homes that are all going so fast, the good taste of which will never be properly understood until our early days" have become ancient

history.

"So English!" she exclaimed, as she stepped into the cool, paved hall. "Why, I could imagine myself at home again!"

Mrs. Towers escorted her up the wide stairs to a suite of spacious rooms--the chief guest-chambers of the house; and a smart maid brought tea, and transferred her clothes to drawers and wardrobe, and turned on the bath, and offered to help her to dress for dinner. The loveliest fresh flow

ers bloomed in precious vases, among silver-topped bottles of eau-de-cologne and toilet vinegar, and every little luxury that a woman could want. Nancy sent away the maid, with smiling thanks, that she might be alone with Jack and free to express her views of the situation.

"Isn't it perfectly delicious?" she cried, clasping her hands and dancing round and round. "Isn't he a perfect dear?"

"That Mrs. Towers is certainly a treasure," said Jack, peeping into a silver powderbox. "She seems to have thought of everything."

"Oh, it isn't Mrs. Towers," replied Nancy, confidently. "It's him! He always does think of everything."

"Well, I suppose, when a man has been married, he knows-"

"Go and have your bath, Jacky, and get dressed, so that you can help me. I shall want you to lace me up. Oh, how glad I am that I brought my white silk, too! Dear old gown! Doesn't it remind you-?" She put her bare arms round the curate's narrow shoulders and tenderly kissed him. "It's not a bit too smart for this house, and there are eleven guests here already, Mrs. Towers says. Isn't it lovely? Isn't

it a blessed change, after those Wooroona tea parties? O Jack, how nice it will feel to put on an evening dress once more!"

She put it on, about half an hour later—the old wedding dress, remodelled for these purposes— and stood looking at herself in the long mirror, while Jack, with many fumblings, laboriously laced the pliant bodice over her slim little figure, which was as charming as her face. A prettier picture never was framed in the frame of a looking-glass, and she knew it, and delighted in the knowledgeanticipating the expression she would see in the eyes of the eleven guests when she should appear before them, having done full justice to herself for the first time in Australia, as she believed. Most carefully had she piled her golden-chestnut hair on the top of her head and arranged the carelesslooking, feathery curls upon her brow; for the rest, youth and Nature had done all that was necessary. The tint and texture of her fair and healthy skin were unsurpassable, and the curves of throat and shoulders such as justified her keen enjoyment of an evening dress.

"No jewels, Jacky," she remarked, after a thoughtful pause. "Just this plain gown, that hasn't got a pucker anywhere-I wonder whether they'll see how beautifully it is made, and how