In the Land of the Long White Cloud

George introduced himself with a smile. Fortunately, he did not seem angry. “Thank you for the hint. I would love a chance to wash up first. You have a beautiful home, Mrs. Warden.” He followed Gwyneira into the salon and stood amazed before the grand furniture and the large fireplace.
    Gwyneira nodded. “Personally, I find it a bit big, but my father-in-law had it designed by the most famous architects. All the furniture comes from England. Cleo, get off the silk rug. Don’t even think about having your litter there!”
    Gwyneira was speaking to a rotund collie that had lain down in front of the fireplace on an exquisite oriental rug. Insulted, she rose and tottered over to another rug that was surely no less valuable.
    “She feels very important when she’s pregnant,” remarked Gwyneira, petting the dog. “But she’s got a right to. She litters the best sheepdogs in the area. The Canterbury Plains are now teeming with little Cleos. Mostly grandchildren, though, since I only rarely let her breed. I don’t want her getting fat!”
    George was astounded. After hearing the stories of the bank director and Peter Brewster, he had pictured the all but childless mistress of Kiward Station as prudish and highly proper. But here was Gwyneira speaking quite naturally to him about dog breeding, and she not only let her sheepdog in the house but let her lie on the silk rugs! And she had not said so much as a word about the maid in bare feet.
    Chatting amiably, the young woman led her visitor to his guest room and instructed the butler to fetch his saddlebags.
    “And please tell Kiri she should put her shoes on. Lucas will have a fit if she serves like that.”

    “Mummy, why do I have to put on shoes? Kiri isn’t wearing any.”
    George met Gwyneira and her daughter in the corridor outside his room just as he was about to go down to dinner. He had done his best as far as evening wear went. Though slightly wrinkled, his light brown suit was handsomely tailored and much more becoming than the comfortable leather pants and waxed jacket he had acquired in Australia.
    Gwyneira and the captivating little red-haired girl who was squabbling so loudly were likewise elegantly attired.
    Though not in the latest fashion. Gwyneira was wearing a turquoise evening gown of such breathtaking refinement that, even in the best London salons, it would have created a stir—especially with a woman as beautiful as Gwyneira modeling it. The little girl wore a pale green shift that was almost entirely concealed by her abundant red-gold locks. When Fleur’s hair hung down loose, it frizzed a bit, like that of a gold tinsel angel. Her delicate green shoes matched theadorable little dress, but the little one obviously preferred to carry them in her hands than wear them on her feet.
    “They pinch!” she complained.
    “Fleur, they don’t pinch,” her mother declared. “We just bought them four weeks ago, and they were on the verge of being too big then. Not even you grow that fast. And even if they do pinch, a lady bears a small degree of pain without complaining.”
    “Like the Indians? Ruben says that in America they take stakes and hurt themselves for fun to see who’s the bravest. His daddy told him. But Ruben thinks that’s dumb, and so do I.”
    “That’s her opinion on the subject of being ‘ladylike,’” Gwyneira remarked, looking to George for help. “Come, Fleurette. This is a gentleman. He’s from England, like Ruben’s mummy and me. If you behave properly, maybe he’ll greet you by kissing your hand and call you ‘my lady.’ But only if you wear shoes.”
    “Mr. McKenzie always calls me ‘my lady’ even if I walk around barefoot.”
    “He must not come from England, then,” George said, playing along. “And he certainly hasn’t been introduced to the queen.” This honor had been conferred on the Greenwoods the year before, and George’s mother would probably chatter on about it for the rest of her life. It did not seem to impress Gwyneira all that much—but it worked wonders with her daughter.
    “Really? The queen? Did you see a princess?”
    “All the princesses,” averred George. “And they all had shoes on.”
    Fleurette sighed. “Very well,” she said, slipping into her shoes.
    “Thank you,” said Gwyneira, winking at George. “You’ve been a great help. At the moment, Fleurette isn’t sure whether she’s going to be an Indian queen in the Wild West or would prefer to marry a prince