"I a.s.sure you I have no intention whatever of playing with Amiria's heart. It was she who played with mine, and nearly won. But I saved myself by flight. It was fortunate I had a good horse."

Rose laughed. "One would imagine you were hardly big enough to look after yourself. That's the kind of young man they generally send out from England. Well?"

"As I was coming home I met a digger molesting another friend of mine, a Miss Varnhagen."

"You'd better be careful--she's a flirt."

"Then I rather like flirts. I threw the digger into the river, and took her home. She has the most lovely eyes I ever saw."

"And she knows how to use them."

"You're jealous, I'm afraid. Wouldn't you want to look at the man who had saved you from an ugly brute, who met you in the dark on a narrow bridge from which you couldn't possibly escape?"

"Perhaps. But why don't you feel a little sentimental over the girl who saved you from a watery grave? You're callous, I'm afraid, Mr.

Scarlett."

"Not at all: I'm merely flattered. It seems a pity I can't stop in Timber Town, and see more of such girls; but I must be off to-morrow to get more gold. Gold is good, Miss Summerhayes, but girls are better."

"Fie, fie. Gold and a good girl--that's perfection."

"They always go together--I quite understand that."

"Now you're frivolling. You're making yourself out to be _blase_ and all that. I shall tell my father to forbid you the house."

"In which case I shall call on Miss Varnhagen."

"That would be all right--you would meet with the punishment you deserve. Marry the Varnhagen girl, and you will be grey in two years, and bald in five."

"Well, I'm going to the gold-fields to-morrow."

"So you said. I hope you will have the same luck as before."

"Is that all you have to say?"

"What more do you want?"

"Any amount."

"You've got gold: you've got feminine adoration. What more is there, except more gold?"

"More feminine adoration."

"I should have thought you had to-day as much affection as is good for you."

"You're in high spirits to-night."

"I am. It's jolly to think of people succeeding. It's jolly to know somebody is growing rich, even if my old father and I are poor, that is too poor for me to go to a.s.sembly b.a.l.l.s and private dances and things like that. So I sit at home and sew, and make puddings, and grow roses.

Heigh-ho! I'm very happy, you know."

Jack looked at her closely. Her cheeks were pink-and-white, her crisp, brown hair formed a becoming setting to her face, and her blue eyes sparkled as they watched him.

"It seems to agree with you," he said. "I feel inclined to recommend a course of sewing and cooking to all my plain girl-friends."

"Mr. Scarlett!"

"I mean it."

"Then go, and tell Rachel Varnhagen to use your recipe."

"She's beautiful already."

Just at this point of the conversation, there was the sound of heavy steps somewhere in a remote part of the house, and presently the Pilot of Timber Town tramped into the room.

"Hullo!" he exclaimed. "Mr. Scarlett! Making love to my dar'ter, when I thought you was on your way to the diggings? Come, come; you're losing your opportunities; you're wasting time in gallivanting, when you might be growing rich. There's great news abroad. They've issued a writ against that chap Tresco for the robbery of those mail-bags."

"Tresco?" said Scarlett.

"Aye, Tresco the goldsmith. He's wanted by the police."

"Then I'm afraid they won't find him," said Jack. "He's safe, I reckon."

"Indeed. How do you know that?"

"He was in the bush with his prospector friend, when I left Bush Robin Creek. But he robbed no mails, bless you, Pilot. What would he want with other people's letters?"

"I don't pretend to know. There's money in mail-bags, I suppose. Perhaps he was after that."

"He's after gold, right enough, and he'll get it, if I'm not mistaken."

Jack had risen to go.

"We leave early in the morning," he said. "I must get some sleep.

Good-bye, Pilot; good-bye, Miss Summerhayes."

"Good luck, lad. Come back rich."

Rose was silent till Jack was near the door. Then she said, "I shall remember your recipe--I shan't neglect home duties: I shall attend to them regularly."

Jack laughed, and the Pilot went with him to the front door.

"Eh, lad, there never was such a gal for minding a house. She can make a batter-puddin' with anyone, and I don't care who the next is. Good night, lad, good night. There's never no need to tell her to look after her old father, none at all. And it's a good test--as good as you can have, Jack, my lad. If a gal looks after her old father well, she'll look after her husband, too, when he comes along. Good night, Jack; good night. Eh, but you're in a lucky streak. You'll die rich, Jack. Good night, Jack; good night."

CHAPTER XXIII.

Forewarned, Forearmed.