Although Mrs. TrappÈme had been so short a time in Townsville, she had contrived to learn a very good deal, not only about people in the town itself, but in the surrounding districts, and knew that Grainger was a wealthy mine-owner, had a sister staying with him on a visit—and was a bachelor. She also knew that Mallard was the editor of the Champion, and was likewise a bachelor—in fact, she had acquired pretty well all the information that could be acquired; her informant being the talkative, scandal-mongering wife of the Episcopalian curate.

She was therefore highly elated when at four o'clock in the afternoon Miss Grainger and her brother, and Mallard, after a brief inspection of the rooms—which were really handsomely furnished—took three of the largest and a private sitting-room, at an exorbitant figure, for a week, and promised to be at the Villa that evening for dinner.

“He's immensely rich, Juliette,” she said to her daughter (she was speaking of Grainger after he had gone), “and you must do your best, your very best. Wear something very simple, as it is the first evening; and be particularly nice to his sister—I'm sure he's very fond of her. She'll only be here a week, but he and Mr. Mallard will probably be here a month. So now you have an excellent chance. Don't throw it away by making a fool of yourself.”

Juliette (who had been christened Julia, and called “Judy” for thirty-two years of her life) set her thin lips and then replied acidly—

“It's all very well for you to talk, but whenever I did have a chance—which was not often—you spoilt it by your interference. And if you allow Jimmy to sit at the same table with us to-night he'll simply disgust these new people. When you call him 'Mordaunt' the hideous little wretch grins; and he grins too when you call me 'Juliette' and Lizzie 'Lilla.'”

Mrs. TrappÈme's fat face scowled at her daughter, and she was about to make an angry retort when the frontdoor bell rang.

“A lady wants to see yez, ma'am,” said the “new chum” Irish housemaid, who had answered the door.

“Did you show her into the reception room, Mary?”

“Sure, an' is it the wee room wid the sthuffed burd in the fireplace, or is it the wan beyant wid the grane carpet on de flore; becos' I'm after puttin' her in the wan wid the sthuffed burd? Anny way it's a lady she is, sure enough; an' it's little she'll moind where she do be waitin' on yez.”

“Did she send in her card, Mary?”

“Did she sind in her what?”

“Her card, you stupid girl.”

“Don't you be after miscallin' me, ma'am. Sure I can get forty shillings a wake annywhere an' not be insulted by anny wan, instead av thirty here, which I do be thinkin' is not the place to shuit me”—and the indignant daughter of the Emerald Isle, a fresh-complexioned, handsome young woman, tossed her pretty head and marched out.

So Mrs. TrappÈme went into the room “wid the sthuffed burd in it,” and there rose to meet her a fair-haired girl of about eighteen, with long-lashed, dark-grey eyes, and a somewhat worn and drawn expression about her small mouth, as if she were both mentally and physically tired. Her dress was of the simplest—a neatly fitting, dark-blue, tailor-made gown.

“I saw your advertisement in the Champion this morning,” she said, “and called to ascertain your terms.” Mrs. TrappÈme's big, protruding, and offensive pale-blue eyes stared at and took in the girl's modest attire and her quiet demeanour as a shark looks at an unsuspecting or disabled fish which cannot escape its maws.

“Please sit down,” she said with a mingled ponderous condescension and affability. “I did not advertise. I merely notified in the Champion that I would receive paying guests. But my terms are very exclusive.” “What are they?”

“Five guineas a week exclusive of extras, which, in this place, amount to quite a guinea more. You could not afford that, I suppose?”

The dark-grey eyes flashed, and then looked steadily at those of the fishy blue.

“Your terms are certainly very high, but I have no option. I find it impossible to get accommodation in Townsville. I only arrived from Sydney this morning in the Corea, and as I am very tired, I should like to rest in an hour or so—as soon as you can conveniently let me have my room,” and taking out her purse she placed a £5 note, a sovereign, and six shillings on the table.

“Will you allow me to pay you in advance?” she said, with a tinge of sarcasm in her clear voice. “I will send my luggage up presently.”

Mrs. TrappÈme at once became most affable. She had noticed that the purse the girl had produced was literally stuffed with new £5 notes.

“May I send for it?” she said beamingly, “and will you not stay and go to your room now?”

“No, thank you,” was the cold reply, “I have some business to attend to first. Can you tell me where Mr. Mallard, the editor of the Champion, lives? I know where the office is, but as it is a morning paper, I should not be likely to find him there at this early hour.”

Mrs. TrappÈme was at once devoured with curiosity. “How very extraordinary! Mr. Mallard was here only half an hour ago with a Mr. Grainger and Miss Grainger. They are coming here to stay for a few weeks.”

The girl's fair face lit up. “Oh, indeed! I am sorry I was not here, as I particularly wish to see Mr. Grainger also. I had no idea that he was in Townsville, and was calling on Mr. Mallard—who, I know, is a friend of his—to ascertain when he was likely to be in town.”

“They will all be here for dinner, Miss——”

“My name is Carolan,” and taking out her cardcase she handed Mrs. TrappÈme a card on which was inscribed, “Miss Sheila Carolan.”

“Then Mr. Grainger is a friend of yours?” said Mrs. TrappÈme inquisitively, thinking of the poor chance Juliette would have with such a Richmond in the field as Miss Sheila Carolan.

“No, I have never even seen him,” said the girl stiffly, and then she rose.

“Then you will send for my luggage, Mrs. TrappÈme?”

“With pleasure, Miss Carolan. But will you not look at your room, and join my daughter and myself in our afternoon tea?”

“No, thank you, I think I shall first try and see either Mr. Mallard or Mr. Grainger. Do you know where Mr. Mallard lives?”

“At the Royal Hotel in Flinders Street. My daughter Lilla will be delighted to show you the way.”

But Miss Sheila Carolan was stubborn, and declined the kind offer, and Mrs. TrappÈme, whose curiosity was now at such a pitch that she was beginning to perspire, saw her visitor depart, and then called for Juliette.

“I wonder who she is and what she wants to see Mr. Grainger for?” she said excitedly, as she mopped her florid face: “doesn't know him, and yet wants to see him particularly. There is something mysterious about her.”

“What is she like?” asked Miss TrappÈme eagerly. “I didn't see her face, but her clothes are all right, I can tell you.” (She knew all about clothes, having been a forewoman in a Sydney drapery establishment for many years.)

“Oh, a little, common-looking thing, but uppish. I wonder what on earth she does want to see Mr. Grainger for?”

Half an hour later, when Miss Carolan's luggage arrived, it was duly inspected and criticised by the whole TrappÈme family. Each trunk bore a painted address: “Miss Carolan, Minerva Downs, Dalrymple, North Queensland.”

“Now where in the world is Minerva Downs?” said Mrs. TrappÈme, “and why on earth is she going there? And her name too—Carolan—Sheila Carolan! I suppose she's a Jewess.”

“Indade, an' it's not that she is, ma'am, whatever it manes,” indignantly broke in Mary, who had helped to carry in the luggage, and now stood erect with flaming face and angry eyes. “Sure an' I tould yez she was a lady, an' anny wan cud see she was a lady, an' Carolan is wan av the best names in Ireland—indade it is.”

“You may leave the room, Mary,” said Miss TrappÈme loftily.

“Lave the room, is it, miss? Widout maning anny disrespect to yez, I might as well be telling yez that I'm ready to lave the place intirely, an' so is the cook an' stableman, an' the gardener. Sure none av us—having been used to the gintry—want to sthay in a place where we do be getting talked at all day.”

The prospect of all her servants leaving simultaneously was too awful for Mrs. TrappÈme to contemplate. So she capitulated.

“Don't be so hasty, Mary. I suppose, then, that Miss Carolan is an Irishwoman?”

“She is that, indade. Sore an' her swate face toold me so before she spoke to me at all, at all.”

“Then you must look after her wants yery carefully, Mary. She will only be here for a few weeks.”

Mary's angry eyes softened. “I will that ma'am. Sure she's a sweet young lady wid the best blood in her, I'm thinkin'.”

Miss TrappÈme sniffed.