“Your opinion …”

“Now, now, don’t try to break the bridle, or I’ll tell your mother that you have been rude to me, and she won’t permit that.”

I devoted myself to the washing-up.

“I’ll wait. You are so quick that you soon will be ready.”

I turned my back on him.

“You have the prettiest neck and cheek from the back I ever saw,” he remarked casually. “Don’t be squiffy. I’ll tell you something. Every word said against you weighs against those who say it. That sort of jealousy always works that way. All the girls from here to Timbuctoo are busy adoring you, and the one or two squeaks are pure jealousy.”

“I never was jealous of anyone in my life.”

“You have no one to be jealous of here. I wonder how you would shape among girls who could rival you.”

This was a new point of view to me—an idea. I began to examine it and was trapped into talking.

“There are only two kinds of parents,” he continued. “Those who think their offspring can do nothing wrong, and those who think they can do nothing right. My old man was in the same class as your mother. Every word of disparagement by your mother made me more interested in you. I would never think of marrying anything but a jolly little flirt. That kind of girl knows her way about, and you know when you have her. The booby might go off the rails at the least strain. Besides she has no fire or style.”

“Yes, but I intend to be as annoying as I can in accordance with the family critics.”

“Very clever of you: makes you provokingly attractive.” He chortled again, “You are as full of mettle as a blood filly.”

“I’ll tell Ma that you are vulgar.”

“She’d blame you. When she began to warn me against you, my interest was aroused. I know how to take the praise of fond mas with daughters on their hands. I’m not having any. There is no use in your playing up: the breed is there. Your father is the whitest man in Australia and any daughter reared by your mother is the real stuff, in a class by herself. There are a lot of old maids in your mother’s family and that is another jolly good sign. Early marriage is often a sign of poor goods that have to be sold quickly.”

Here was another idea. An interesting man.

“I’m glad you approve of old maids because I have decided to be one.”

“But I shan’t let you.”

“What have you got to do with it?”

“Haven’t you noticed my influence with your mother? Do you suppose I’m here to talk about the pigs and old times to your father: nearly staked my pair coming up that track.”

“Aren’t you married already?”

“No fear.”

“Didn’t sell early—are you good material?”

“Better call me Henry,” he replied irrelevantly. “It will make me seem quite ten years younger.”