CHAPTER III.
LORD AND LADY HORACE AT HOME.
Lord Horace was scrambling up the bank, leaning well over his saddle bow and clinging to his horse's mane. His seat was a little uncertain, and it was evident that he was only a spurious sort of bush man, in spite of his rather elaborate bush get-up of Crimean shirt, spotless moleskins, and expensive cabbage-tree hat. He had a stockwhip, too, coiled over his left arm, though he had made no pretence of going after cattle, and had indeed only a few stray beasts to go after. He was a tall, slight dark young man with a profile somewhat after the Apollo Belvedere type, fine eyes, and a weak mouth. He was distinctly aristocratic looking, clipped his g's after the English aristocratic fashion, and had certain little ways of his class, in spite of his efforts to be rough. He had an attractive manner, and apart from his wish to ape bushman's habits, seemed quite without affectation. He looked, certainly, however, more suited for a London life than for that of an Australian settler, and it was equally certain from his physiognomy that he would never take the world by storm with his talents.
"Moonlight!" he cried out in answer to Elsie's question. "Been huntin' for him all up the Luya. No chance whatever of their findin' him. I say, Hallett—How do you do, old chap. Let's make a party—get some good black trackers, don't you know? and go out on the trail, eh?—man-catching. It would be rare sport."
"If you and Mr. Hallett were to do such a thing I'd never speak to you again," said Elsie indignantly.
"Look here, she has been ravin' about the fellow. I must say I think it was rather a fine thing refusing Slaney's cheque, and trusting to his honour. Slaney's honour! Poor chap, he's dead, so mustn't abuse him. You should have heard the fellows at the Bean-tree discussin' your chances, Hallett. I suppose you are going to stand for the district?"
