Chapter II: In the Wilds

“He looks like a gentleman,” said Iris Dearn, drawing patterns in the fine white dust with the point of her elegant parasol.

“He not only looks like a gentleman, I am sure he _is_ one,” replied her cousin, with slight emphasis, as she threw back the long streamers of her silver-grey veil which a light breeze had blown teasingly before her face.

“Then I wonder how he comes to be in this position,” mused the girl, ceasing to make patterns in the dust and looking dreamily up the straight bush road by which they were sitting.

Mrs. Henderson shrugged her massive shoulders. “Now, my dear, you have touched on a mystery that we shall never solve. All that we shall ever know is, that Mr. Rees is a gentleman and that he is a driver and guide at this very out-of-the-way place. How he came to occupy this position we shall never be told.”

Iris Dearn made no comment at the moment. Her deep blue eyes, shadowed by very black luxuriant lashes, were still gazing in gentle abstraction up the sunlit track. “It would be interesting to know a little about his past, don’t you think? He talks so well and I am sure he has had a splendid education; he really ought to be doing very different work from this.”

“Yes, he does talk well; and there is no doubt about his education. As you say, it would be rather interesting to know how he came to take up his present work. But we shall not be told anything about that. Though we have been out with him so much, and had so many talks, he has never once referred to his past; in fact, have you noticed that he never talks about himself at all, and if by any chance any one makes the slightest personal reference, he shrinks into unapproachable aloofness at once? Miss Smith was telling me yesterday, that he has been with them for nearly three years, but that he had never told them anything of his former life, and he is not the kind of man they care to ask questions about his private affairs: for though he is so awfully good to every one and has that air of deferential courtesy, he has an impenetrable reserve as well, which keeps even the most curious people at bay.”

“Yes,” acquiesced Miss Dearn, following the movements of a terra-cotta tinted butterfly flickering among some flowering bushes. “He is not the sort of man to satisfy idle curiosity. He will not stand being patronised either. That vulgar little woman with all the diamonds, in the tourist party last week, tried to patronise him when they first went out, but she soon gave it up! I never saw anything better done than the neat, courteous way he put her in her place, and without in the least appearing to do so; it was masterly!”

“Yes, that was really clever--I felt inclined to clap and say ‘Bravo!’”

“So did I. That really was an odious little woman--the way she first spoke to him made me want to shake her.”

Mrs. Henderson’s small plump hands were again occupied putting the streamers of her veil away from her face; when this was accomplished she said, turning her round, kind face to her cousin, “By the way, Iris, that soft new shade of blue you wore last night suited you to perfection--it just matched your eyes.”

But her cousin was not interested in clothes just then. “He is very brave,” she said irrelevantly, turning the soft oval of her face once more towards the long stretch of glistening road. “Wasn’t it splendid the way he caught that runaway horse the other day and saved that poor old drunkard’s life!”

“Yes, it was most heroic; and he was nearly killed himself over it. My heart just stood still when the horse dragged him all that distance--still he managed to pull it up in the end. But it was a reckless thing to do, and the old fellow in the cart wasn’t worth the risk! Miss Smith says Mr. Rees is always doing things like that; he doesn’t mind what dangers he runs into as long as he helps somebody. The whole district comes to him for help. If their cows or horses are ill they always send for him, and he often sits up all night with people, too. Miss Green’s father, at the shop, has awful heart attacks, and whenever they come on they always send for Mr. Rees, and he frequently has to stay with the invalid till early morning.”

Miss Dearn’s delicately gloved hand began to stroke the moss-covered log on which they were sitting. “I have never met any one so kind and thoughtful. He seems to think of everything for every one’s comfort, and does it all in such a quiet unobtrusive manner that one hardly realises he is doing anything at all. I wonder if he is happy,” she pondered with cool, detached interest.

“Happy!” repeated her cousin, “how could any man be happy with eyes like that? Haven’t you noticed the deep melancholy in them when he is not talking? It is really there all the time, even when he smiles; but, when he is silent and thinks himself unobserved, the sadness in his face makes my heart positively ache!”

Her companion brushed away a little green beetle which had lighted on her dainty gown. “Grey eyes always look sad, don’t you think? They are so much sadder than blue or brown ones--like grey skies, always looking a little wistful.”

Mrs. Henderson suddenly glanced at her small, gold wrist-watch. “We really must go back,” she said rising slowly. “We ought to be in good time for dinner to-night; generally we are so late with all these long outings. By the way, Mr. Rees asked me, just before we came out, if we would care to have another look at the big caves; a large party is arriving to-night and wants to see them to-morrow. I believe he wants us to go, and said he would save us the front seats in the brake if we decided to visit the caves again. It is so nice of him always to keep the best seats for us. I was so amused the other day when I was standing on the verandah waiting for you: one of the ladies tried her best to secure the seat next to him, and coaxed in the most arch and fascinating way to get it; but he was relentless and the front seats were rigidly reserved for us. I think he likes to have us there.”

“That is only because we have been here so long and been out with him so often,” said Miss Dearn, opening her long ivory-handled parasol.

“Perhaps so; yet, even in his aloof way, he may like some visitors better than others I suppose--he certainly talks more to us than to any of the other people.”

Iris made no reply as she walked beside her cousin, tall, erect, slender--all in white, from her slim shoes to her slanting parasol; her exquisite profile with its bewildering contours of chin and throat softly outlined against the bronze-green bush, her deep blue eyes, shadowed almost to blackness by their long drooping lashes, looking straight before her.

Mrs. Henderson glanced at her and exclaimed involuntarily: “Iris, you ought to be closely veiled. It is really not fair to men, having a girl looking like you walking about--it is not! I don’t wonder so many of them have gone absolutely mad over you--I should myself if I were a man! I wonder no one has ever come at night and run away with you--I shouldn’t blame them if they did!”

Iris smiled a soft, indulgent smile. She had been accustomed to such admiration all her life. “No one ever feels as badly as that--they all get over it in time. Anyhow up here there is not the slightest danger, as we never see any men except those awful tourists who stare, and stare, and then--go away.”

Neither the girl nor her cousin thought of the driver just then.

By this time they had left the bush track and were now walking on the open main road leading to the small township where they were staying. The great chain of mountains surrounding the district had come into view. A soft haze and the pale blue smoke of bush fires made the towering ridges look strangely remote and out of reach. It seemed as if they had shrunk back into some impenetrable reserve, which would never lift again and reveal their austere savage beauty.

“Here comes Mr. Rees,” said Mrs. Henderson suddenly, interrupting herself in the middle of a remark about the English letters she had received that morning.

Miss Dearn followed the direction of her cousin’s gaze. “Are you sure that is he?” she asked a little absently. She was thinking just then of her mother’s urgent appeal to come home immediately.

“Why, of course! Who else in this place walks like that? If nothing else gives him away, his walk does. No one but a gentleman could walk that way; there is a suggestion of Eton or Harrow about it.”

They watched the man in the paddock making his way to the road. He was rather tall, straight, well-made, and he moved with an ease and careless grace which made it a pleasure to look at him. As he came nearer they could distinguish his finely chiselled features, which bore their usual expression of preoccupation and quiet gravity.

He had reached the fence now and vaulted over it with the lightness of a deer, then he greeted the ladies waiting for him in the shade of a large wattle.

“Good afternoon,” he said in an exceedingly pleasant voice, lifting his cap and baring a very shapely head, covered with thick black short-cut hair.

He wore a loose brown Norfolk jacket, a little the worse for wear, but of good material and cut, and his pink-striped shirt was spotless. There was an air of neatness about him--not the punctilious, fussy kind, but the unstudied correctness which comes naturally to those who have good taste in clothes, and know how to put them on without wasting much time over their toilet.

“Are you coming home too, Mr. Rees?” said Mrs. Henderson, with the friendly graciousness she would bestow on an equal.

“Yes--may I walk along with you?”

“Of course, we shall be glad to have a chat with you--we haven’t had a talk for two or three days.”

Miss Dearn awoke from the contemplation of her mother’s letter. “Have you been on another errand of mercy?” she inquired turning a dazzling impersonal smile on the driver.

“Do you call going to a farm to return a borrowed horse by such an exalted name?” queried Rees, a momentary light coming into his sad grey eyes.

“I wonder what makes you do all these kind things,” the girl mused, ignoring his reply. “We have been talking about you this afternoon and saying how wonderful it is of you to help the whole neighbourhood the way you do. We watched you stop that runaway horse the other day--that was really heroic!” she concluded with a fine sweep of her head and a glowing splendour in her eyes.

Iris Dearn had a magnificent way of bestowing praise. She did it in such a regal, generous way, like a beneficent goddess distributing large bounty, yet without the faintest tinge of patronage in her manner.

A slight flush crept under the tan of the guide’s face. “You exaggerate my usefulness, Miss Dearn. As for the bolting horse, any one would have tried to stop it, and I just happened to be on the spot,” he answered a little hastily, but without awkward embarrassment.

Her blue eyes looked steadily into his. “Mr. Rees, we have never met any one so ready to help others as you; it has been quite a revelation to see the way you bear the burdens of the whole district; I didn’t know there were people like you in the world!”

It was the first opportunity she had had of letting him know how much they admired his bravery in rescuing the poor old drunkard two days before.

A buggy was just passing and the rumbling of the wheels made conversation impossible.

When the noise of the vehicle had died away Mrs. Henderson said: “Miss Smith told me this morning about some Australian writer who visits here.”

“What is his name?” asked her cousin with keen interest.

“Brian Shadwell.”

“I have never read any of his books--I suppose they are Australian?” questioned Miss Dearn turning to the driver.

“No, they are not Australian. His scenes are generally laid in England.”

“How disappointing! I should think it would be far more interesting to describe the life out here. If I were a writer I should revel in putting the atmosphere of this place on paper and sending it broadcast over the world;--it would be like bottling up sunshine and mountain breezes, and distributing them everywhere! But are his books good?”

“I have only seen two of them. They did not appeal to me,” said Rees a little diffidently. “He writes about a very undesirable type of woman,” he added, expanding a little.

“What are they like?” interrogated Mrs. Henderson.

“Shallow, pale-faced, exotic; the kind of women who become engaged to a man for the sake of excitement and sensation only.”

“I wonder what type of woman you really admire,” said Mrs. Henderson, making a bold attempt to draw him out.

Rees stooped, picked up some broken glass lying on the road, and threw it away. When he was erect again, he replied: “That is a subject I have not thought much about--a driver can’t afford to, you know.” And then he led the conversation into quite different channels.

A little while afterwards they turned a corner of the road and the insignificant, self-conscious little township came into view. It consisted of a few scattered cottages, one small shop, two churches, a home-made-looking post office and a large, imposing boarding-house facing the great western mountains.

“Isn’t this the quaintest place you ever saw!” exclaimed Miss Dearn, her blue eyes luminous with animation. “Except for the boarding-house it looks like a garment which has been put away in a drawer and forgotten for many years, but eventually found and put out to air.”

“It is so strange there is no hotel here; I am sure one would pay well,” observed Mrs. Henderson, looking towards the big stone boarding-house.

The driver glanced suddenly at a small garden they were passing and did not reply for a moment. Then he said in slow, measured tones: “We have local option here you know, and the people won’t have a licensed house.”

* * * * *

While Iris was changing her gown for dinner that evening Mrs. Henderson came into her room. “I am sure Mr. Rees is not married,” she remarked, with the air of one whose harmless curiosity on some small matter has been satisfied. “I don’t think he will ever marry either; he evidently doesn’t think he can afford the luxury of a wife. He spoke as if he had settled the question finally.”

“I don’t think he cares for women; though he is so delightfully chivalrous to them they do not seem to interest him in the least. He is so much occupied with other things that he has no time for sentiment. If he has ever been in love, he has got over it long ago.”

“I wish you were a little more interested in love, Iris,” commented her cousin.

Iris glanced composedly at her own beautiful reflection in the mirror. “I am interested in an abstract way, of course--every one is. But I don’t want to have any personal experience of it. I am awfully interested in the South Pole Exploration, but haven’t the least desire to go tumbling about among the icebergs myself.”

“Your mother would not be at all surprised if you joined the next Shackleton expedition, I am sure; after the awful shock you have already given her by coming out here she would be prepared for anything.”

Iris turned, put her lovely arms round her cousin’s neck and kissed her fondly. “If it were not for you I am afraid I should not be here now. But poor dear mother does get so perplexed over what she calls my uncivilised tendencies. She cannot understand how this wild flower happened to come into her highly cultivated garden. I have often wondered how I came to be there myself.”

“My dear, you get the strain from your father’s side, of course--from your Italian grandmother.”

* * * * *

“Doesn’t Miss Dearn look a perfect vision in evening dress!” remarked Miss Smith to Rees as she brought him some mountain trout at dinner that night, glancing over to the small table at the other side of the room, where Mrs. Henderson and her cousin were sitting. “I have never seen any one look quite so dazzling--have you? Her skin is so soft and white, and that wonderful colour in her cheeks makes me think of the shade on the breast of a robin; and her hair--is it brown or golden? Just look at her eyes, they seem like great blue shimmering stars!--she is lovely!”

“That’s right!” replied Rees, laconically, addressing his attention to the mountain trout before him.