Pa went out shouting surprise and a boomer of a welcome. Ma followed corroborating him, and asking the man why they had not seen him all these years. Pa and he went to the stables, leading the lovely ponies with their saucy heads and wide red nostrils. Ma hastened to spread a hearthrug and a table cover, kept for high company, and said we’d have to prepare something for tea. We had tea on Sundays: other days Ma stuck to dinner at sundown instead of in the middle of the day. She was the only one in the neighborhood who did—a relic of her early social status.

It was Henry Beauchamp from Moongudgeonby, one of the big stations up the country, where Ma and Pa came from. He had been at their wedding and, since those days had been in Queensland and down the Murray. I did up my hair to look grown-up in readiness to meet him. Ma seemed delighted that he had come. As I came out he was saying she was the loveliest bride he had ever seen.

“Married life soon altered that,” said Ma. “You haven’t a bride of your own yet?”

“Can’t find one to come up to you,” said he. “Is your daughter like yourself?”

“Oh, dear me, no,” said Ma expressively.

“Takes after you from what I hear,” said Mr. Beauchamp, with a grin at Pa.

“They say so, but I think she is very much herself.” I loved Pa for that and took this moment to come in.

The typical Australian squatter, according to my idea, rose to meet me. He was a tall broad man, with a clipped black beard and two or three grey hairs around the temples. Quite old. I noticed at once. He was so tanned that his eyes, a sort of oyster grey, looked like white holes. He smiled, showing white teeth, without waiting to be introduced. It was trying to have to come out in contrast to Ma, but I did not think I was grown-up enough for him to notice me much. I hoped he would not miss my complexion, which is one of my unassailable points. Everyone raves about it. My admirers always wish they could eat it. Ma says I get it from her as Pa’s side have muddy skins and that mine will soon go, that a complexion is a fleeting thing.

I think Henry Beauchamp noticed it and every other detail. His glances were quick and penetrating as if they could see through one’s clothes.

There was a great flow of geniality and high company talk. Ma and Pa asked questions and Mr. Beauchamp replied in a soft cool voice. I liked looking at his teeth, but found his eyes on me wherever I went. This made me uneasy as I knew he was wondering how Ma, the perfect and unique, could have produced me. Pa and Ma had him in the evening while I did the work. I did not reappear until supper time at half past nine after which Ma showed Mr. Beauchamp to the spare room.