His voice was very soft and low, more like a girl's than a boy's, and I noticed that he had none of the mannerisms of a man—at least, not of one who has seen much of the world.
"Yes, Australia's as good a place as any other for the man who goes out there to work," I said. "But somehow you don't look to me like a chap that is used to what is called roughing it. Pardon my rudeness."
"Well, you see, I've never had much chance. My father is considered by many to be a very peculiar man. He has strange ideas about me, and so you see I've never been allowed to mix with other people. But I'm stronger than you'd think, and I shall be twenty in October next."
Somehow I thought I couldn't be very far out in his age.
"And now if you don't mind telling me—what is your name?"
"I suppose there can be no harm in telling you. I was told if ever I met anyone and they asked me, not to tell them. But since you saved my life it would be ungrateful not to let you know. I am the Marquis of Beckenham."
"Is that so! Then your father is the Duke of Glenbarth?"
"Yes. Do you know him?"
"Never set eyes on him in my life, but I heard him spoken of the other day."
I did not add that it was Mr. Matchem who, during my conversation with him, had referred to him, nor did I think it well to say that he had designated him the "Mad Duke." And so the boy I had saved from drowning was the young Marquis of Beckenham. Well, I was moving in good society with a vengeance. This boy was
