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chair beside the one which Mrs. Holmes had just vacated. “That’s not Mr. Holmes then,” thought Ann; but she did not look in his direction.

“Bring the luggage right through, Marsh,” went on Mrs. Holmes; and turning again to Ann: “I expect you’d like to see your room. Have you had any tea?”

Ann shook her head.

“Why didn’t you see that Miss Merrill had tea at Omoana, Marsh?”

“She told Mrs. Bentley she didn’t want it,” returned the young man shortly.

“I thought I’d better not delay.”

“Oh well, I’ll get you a cup. My two domestics are down at the cottage. They live down there.” With a casual movement of her well-shaped hand Vera Holmes indicated the buildings near the woolshed. “I usually let them go for two or three hours in the afternoon. We’re in luck at present—an excellent married couple with a daughter. She’s a somewhat miniature and incompetent housemaid, but we take what the gods—or the Emigration Department—send us, and are thankful.”

They had moved through the central hall, and along a passage leading to the western side of the house, and here in a small bright-papered room Ann’s luggage was deposited. Rodney Marsh made his way out towards the back of the house, and while Mrs. Holmes went off to see about the tea, Ann inspected her domain.

A french window—now flung widely open—led on to a small side veranda, and so to the flower-sweet garden. Beyond her room to the left was a big bedroom which Mrs. Holmes told her belonged to the