It was a ridiculous pretence; she knew he thought of her often. She knew the shadow of his first wife lay heavy across the happiness he might have enjoyed with his second.

Audrey said: "Pearls, Madam?" And she smiled her assent. He: smile was charming as it ever was. She always tried to be charming to the servants, particularly if they had been convicts. Behind each of them she would see a grim shadow of Newgate that could make hideous memories rush back at her, and whatever had been their crime, she would make excuses for them. Of Audrey she knew little except that she was sentenced to transportation for fourteen years, and had, by all accounts, been a desperate creature. And yet here was Audrey, almost gentle, pliable, eager to please. She never asked questions of Audrey; it occurred to her that the girl might not wish to talk, but because there was a daintiness about her which most lacked, she had taken her to be her maid, and Audrey was grateful.

"Audrey clasped the pearls about her neck and stood back to admire.

 They are lovely, Madam.”

A gift from Gunnar one of his many gifts. She was fond of him, though at times he irritated her almost beyond endurance. His ideas were so conventional that they bored her; she knew, almost to the phrase, what he would say on almost any subject. His conduct was absolutely what it should have been except on one occasion; and how ironical it was that her tenderness for him should be just because of that lapse.

She smiled faintly at her reflection in the mirror. Ripe womanhood, full sensuous lips, and green eyes that flashed from mood to mood with a speed that could be disastrous. She was her mother's daughter; she belonged to that procession of women to whom numerous love-affairs were as natural as eating and drinking. But there was a certain strength in her which the others had lacked; perhaps it had grown up in the evil soil of Newgate, because that fetid air had nourished it. A glance from a pair of merry eyes, admiring, passionate and she was as ready for adventure as her mother had been. But she had resisted every time, for she could not forget that her husband had jeopardized not only his soul but and ironical as it might seem, this was of almost as great importance to him his position here in Sydney, for love of her.

Gunnar was really a man after Lachlan Macquarie's own heart, and but for that eighteen-year-old scandal, what position might not Gunnar have held under the greatest governor New South Wales had ever known!

Macquarie and his saintly Elizabeth had not been ruling when it happened, but there were those only too ready to tell him the story which they had preserved, as though it was something precious, through the reign of turbulent Bligh and the period of usurpation that followed before the coming of Macquarie. Gunnar admired the governor almost to idolatry; and the governor admired Gunnar; but that was that ancient scandal that had attached itself to poor Gunnar and dragged him down from the heights which, but for it, he would certainly have attained.

It was not the fact that he had married a convict; it was the circumstances in which he had married her. There were many convicts, and once they were free it should not be remembered against them that they had suffered transportation. Everyone knew that the laws of the old Country, and its conditions, were such as to breed convicts. A convict can become a respectable man in a new country many of them had for that reckless daring which may have driven them to crime, turned to good effect, can be the very quality needed to found a new nation. No, the fact that Mrs. Masterman had begun her life in Sydney as a convict was not really as important as that clinging scandal about Masterman's first wife.

And here I am, back at it, thought Carolan. Eighteen years ago it happened, and I still think of it as though it were yesterday.

Tonight was Katharine's party, a joyous occasion. Katharine! Sweet daughter. Anything was surely worth while to have had Katharine. Five sons she had borne Gunnar, willingly doing her duty one pregnancy following close on another accepting the discomfort, the pain and the danger; and all because she was determined to do her duty, to give him those sons he had wanted. He had got them; he had paid dearly for them, and he should not be disappointed. Queer, that it should be Katharine whom they loved best of all. The daughter; and every time he looked at her, did he think as she did of those months immediately previous to her birth? Was it that that made her specially dear? No, not It was the charm of Katharine; the sweetness of her. Carolan's daughter. Her eyes had lost that tinge of green, and were blue as speedwells you found in the lanes of the Old Country; her hair was a deeper shade of red; her chin determined as Carolan's had been twenty years ago, so that one was fearful for Katherine. The boys were like their father calmer, assured; they possessed humour, though Gunnar had none, but that would not hinder their way of life. She could see them, years ahead, important men in the town, of perhaps in other towns, perhaps back in England. Martin and Edward both had a yearning for England. James would most likely take over his father's activities; and it was too soon to see what little Joseph and Stephen were going to do. The boys were safe, but Katharine she was not so sure. Gunnar had wanted her educated in England; he had advanced ideas on education for such an unimaginative man. James was soon to leave for England, but Katharine she would not allow to go.

"But, my dear," said Gunnar. 'she needs more than Sydney can give her.

There are things she must learn, which she can only acquire at home... the way to behave manners are necessarily a little rough here...”

"No," she said, 'no I should not have a moment's peace. How do we know what would happen to her?”

She had had a frightful vision of life's catching up reckless Katharine as it had caught up innocent Carolan. Newgate. The prison ship. But why should she be so caught, a young lady of substance? But how can you know what evil fate is in store!

She had her way. She remembered lying in the dark with him. holding him in her arms.

"Gunnar, I could not bear it! What happened to me..." And he had soothed her and comforted her. Katharine should not leave her. It was for moments like that she almost loved him.

And now Katharine had grown secretive, her blue eyes full of dreams, her thoughts far away. You spoke to her and she did not answer; and she made no confidences in her mother. Sometimes Carolan thought she knew. Had it begun years ago when the child was only ten years old, and had disappeared one day and come back the next morning with Marcus ?

The thought of Marcus angered her, and comforted her and hurt her. So insolent he had looked, standing there in the yard. She knew he had kept the child purposely to hurt her, Carolan, that he wanted to hurt her as she had hurt him. Insolently he had looked at her, hating her and loving her as she hated and loved him. Gunnar had stood there, exasperatingly unobservant. seeing in this man a kind friend who had looked after his daughter and brought her safely home.

It had seemed to her that Marcus's eyes had said something else too, that they pleaded for a moment alone with her; they seemed to say: "Carolan, Carolan, we must meet again. Where, Carolan, where?" And her heart had beaten faster with excitement, and her need of him then was as great as her love for her children. He had seen that, and hope had leaped into his eyes. But Gunnar had been there, seeing nothing, his voice calm, his manner slightly pompous as he thanked Marcus with the charm and courtesy a successful man can afford to give to one who is not so successful.

"My dear sir, we are deeply indebted to you. We shall never forget...”

And because he was such a good man, because he had always striven so hard to lead the right sort of life ... no, not because of that.

Because of that one lapse when for her sake ... She let her thoughts swerve. Not that again! Not that. But it was the reason why she had turned from Marcus and ever since not known whether she was glad or sorry. All she knew was that her life was full of regrets ... regrets for ... she was not sure what. Life was a compromise, when for people like herself and Marcus who knew how to live recklessly, it should have been glorious. Up in the heights, and perhaps occasionally for Marcus could never be faithful to one woman even if she was Carolan down in the depths. But never, never this unexciting, boring level.

And that day when Marcus had come into the yard with Katharine was a bitter day, for it had lost her something of Katharine. She had been too harsh with the child, blaming her because she had stupidly wanted to blame someone for that for which she herself was entirely to blame.

"You shall never go there again!" she had said, and Katharine had answered with stubborn silence. If your daughter was so like you that the resemblance frightened you, you could often guess her thoughts. She had gone there, of course she had gone. She had felt the irresistible charm of Marcus. There was a boy, Henry ... Esther's child. He would doubtless be as like his father as Katharine was like her mother.

The child often absented herself all day. She would ride off in the morning and not return until sundown. Where had she been? She would come back, flushed with sunshine and laughter, and happiness looked out of her eyes. And when there had been that talk of going to England, how stubbornly she had set her heart against it!

"I do not want to go to England! I will not go to England!" Why?

Because, if she went, she would miss those long days when she absented herself from her own home and went to that of Marcus.

Carolan had seen the boy, Henry. He had inherited that subtle attractiveness from his father. He was young and crude of course, but it was there, and Katharine possibly did not look for polish. Dark he was, dark as Marcus, with that quickness of eye; she had heard him call to someone in the town, and his voice had that lilting quality which belonged to Marcus's.

Katharine was young, only just seventeen. It might be that she thought she loved the boy, because it was the first time anyone had talked of love to her. So she had contrived to arrange parties for her, gatherings where she could meet charming people. That was not difficult, for Sydney was no longer a mere settlement, Macquarie had vowed it should take its place among the cities of the world, and surely he was keeping his word. From the Cove it looked magnificent nowadays, unrecognizable as that notch potch of buildings it had been on her arrival. It was gracious and stately; large houses of hewn stone had taken the place of the smaller ones, and the number of warehouses had grown on the waterside to keep pace with the growing population and prosperity. Sydney would soon grow into a great town, busy and beautiful. There were young men of substance in the town who had shown signs of becoming very interested in the fresh young charms of Masterman's daughter; and not least among these was Sir Anthony Greymore, recently out from England, a young man, sophisticated and charming, wealthy and serious-minded enough to make a good husband. He surely, if anyone, could wean Katharine from Henry.

I will not let her marry Marcus's son! thought Carolan. I will not!

Even though, for a time, she thinks her heart is broken. He will be like his father. I see it in him.

Audrey was looking at her oddly, comb poised.

"I am sorry, Audrey. I am fidgeting." Audrey's eyes in the mirror worshipped her. Where else could a convict find such a kind mistress?

Gunnar came in. He had just ridden home. He looked tanned and healthy. He was in a hurry for he was late, but he would be ready at precisely the right moment when he must descend to greet his guests. He would never be late. His dressing-room would be in perfect order and he would know just where to find everything. How wrong it was to get exasperated over someone's virtues!

Audrey had finished her hair and the result was most attractive.

"You don't look much older than Miss Katharine, M'am. You might be her older sister. People could easy take you for that." What flattery!

She looked years older than Katharine and most definitely she looked Katharine's mother.

She felt an acute desire to be Katharine's age, to be going to her first ball where she would be told by Everard that he loved her. Had she known what was waiting for her. how she would have pleaded with him to let nothing stand in the way of marriage! Had she never come to London she would never am known Marcus. She could not wish that. No, perhaps if she could live her life again, she would go back to that day when Margery had told her that Clementine Smith and Marcus were lovers.