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 it will be highly remunerative. But when my house is completed and furnished in accordance with modern art, you will come there to be my queen and its most brilliant ornament? (looks entreatingly at her).

(with expression of horror). What! improve a selection? Spend thousands of pounds on it? Build a really good house and ask me to live there? Did you ever hear of Tarban Creek?

. Not that I can recall—an aboriginal name, I presume. I have caught the name of Curbin, I think. Is that a similar watercourse?

(restraining herself). It's hardly worth explaining—a little joke of mine. But to come to business. Suppose I show you a way to invest your money—to get twenty per cent for it in a few years, at the same time to make father think you a clever, rising man—an opinion which, ahem! he does not hold at present—and lastly, to cause him to give his consent to our marriage, (coaxingly) what should you say then? Would you be willing to do what I told you?

. I always thought you as clever as you were beautiful, my own dearest Dulcie! Take me with all that is mine and do what you will.

. Very nice—indeed flattering! How long will it last, I wonder? 'Now you lisdens do me' (as our German gardener used to say) and you will hear something to your advantage. But first promise to do what I ask—you will promise? (looking entreatingly and archly at him).

. On my honour; on the cross of my ancestor's sword—he was a Crusader.

. The first is enough; I am afraid you are inclined to be a Crusader too, as far as romantic enthusiasm goes—still it's a fault on the right side, and will be cured by colonial and other experience. Firstly, you must sell this selection.

. What! sell my farm—my home—my first venture in this new world?

. Stuff and nonsense! It's poor dad's Run, to begin with, and you ought never to have touched it! You wouldn't, either, if you'd known how hard he worked for it before I was born.

(meditatively). How could it be his; or, if