She, too, would get up and sing CARMEN'S famous air, and the Neapolitan peasant songs of her mother's youth.

Never, for sure, had the gaunt gum trees echoed back such strains as these.
But time came when all the romance of barbarism seemed to have fizzled out and only cruel realities remained--when work and worry turned McKeith from the worshipping lover into the rough-tongued, irritable bushman--when his 'hands' deserted him, his cattle died and things generally went wrong, and when he showed himself something of the hard-headed, parsimonious, ill-conditioned Scotch mongrel that Steadbolt had called him.

When, indeed, he seemed to have forgotten that Lady Bridget O'Hara had graciously permitted him to worship her, but had not bargained for being treated--well, as many another out-back squatter--treats his help-mate.

Then Bridget would tell herself bitterly that it might have been better had she married a civilised gentleman.

There would sometimes be scenes and sometimes sulks, and those times no doubt accounted for the hungry look in Lady Bridget's eyes and the slight hardening of her mouth.
She was loyal though, in spite of her many faults, and 'game' in her own way--and when Colin came out of his dour moods, she was generally ready to meet him half way.
For, through all, the memory of the dream-drive honeymoon lingered.