Oh, it wasn’t fair! How dare someone else have eyes and face like Father Ralph! Not the way he looked at her: the mirth was something of his own and he had no love burning for her there; from the first moment of seeing Father Ralph kneeling in the dustof the Gilly station yard Meggie had seen love in his eyes. To lookinto his eyes and not see him! It was a cruel joke, a punishment.Unaware of the thoughts his companion harbored, Luke O’Neillkept his wicked bay beside Meggie’s demure mare as they splashed through the creek, still running strong from so much rain. She was a beauty, all right! That hair! What was simply carrots on the male Clearys was something else again on this little sprig. If only shewould look up, give him a better chance to see that face! Just thenshe did, with such a look on it that his brows came together,puzzled; not as if she hated him, exactly, but as if she was trying to see something and couldn’t, or had seen something and wished she hadn’t. Or whatever. It seemed to upset her, anyway. 

 

    Luke wasnot used to being weighed in a feminine balance and found wanting.Caught naturally in a delicious trap of sunset-gold hair and softeyes, his interest only fed on her displeasure and disappointment.Still she was watching him, pink mouth fallen slightly open, a silkydew of sweat on her upper lip and forehead because it was so hot,her reddish-gold brows arched in seeking wonderment. He grinned to reveal Father Ralph’s big white teeth; yet it was not Father Ralph's smile. "Do you know you look exactly like a baby, all oh! and ah!?" She looked away. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stare. You reminded me of someone, that'sall." "Stare all you like. It's better than looking at the top of your head, pretty though that might be. Who do I remind you of?" "No one important. It's just strange, seeing someonefamiliar and yet terribly unfamiliar." "What's your name, little Miss Cleary?" "Meggie." "Meggie . . . It hasn't got enough dignity, it doesn't suit you a bit. I'd rather youwere called something like Belinda or Madeline, but if Meggie's the best you've got to offer, I'll go for it. What's the Meggie stand for -Margaret?" 

 

     "No, Meghann." "Ah, now that's more like! I'll call you Meghann." "No, you won't!" she snapped. "I detest it!" But he only laughed. "You've had too much of your own way, little Miss Meghann. If I wantto call you Eustacia Sophronia Augusta, I will, you know." They had reached the stockyards;he slipped off his bay, aiming a punch at its snapping head which rocked it intosubmission, and stood, obviously waiting for her to offer him her hands so he could helpher down. But she touched the chestnut mare with her heels and walked on up the track."Don't you put the dainty lady with the common old stockmen?" he called after her. "Certainly not!" she answered without turning. 

 

    Oh, it wasn't fair! Even on his own twofeet he was like Father Ralph; as tall, as broad in the shoulders and narrow in the hips,and with something of the same grace, though differently employed. Father Ralph moved likea dancer, Luke O'neill like an athlete. His hair was as thick and black and curling, hiseyes as blue, his nose as fine and straight, his mouth as well cut. And yet he was no more like Father Ralph than-than than a ghost gum, so tall and pale andsplendid, was like a blue gum, also tall and pale and splendid. After that chance meeting Meggie kept her ears open for opinions and gossip about LukeO'neill. Bob and the boys were pleased with his work and seemed to get along well with him;apparently he hadn't a lazy bone in his body, according to Bob. Even Fee brought his nameup in conversation one evening by remarking that he was a very handsome man. "Does he remind you of anyone?" Meggie asked idly, flat on her stomach on the carpetreading a book. Fee considered the question for a moment. "Well, I suppose he's a bit like Father deBricassart. The same build, the same coloring. But it isn't a striking likeness; they'retoo different as men. "Meggie, I wish you'd sit in a chair like a lady to read! Justbecause you're in jodhpurs you don't have to forget modesty entirely." "Pooh!" said Meggie."As if anyone notices!" And so it went. 

 

    There was a likeness, but the men behind the faces were so unalike onlyMeggie was plagued by it, for she was in love with one of them and resented finding theother attractive. In the kitchen she found he was a prime favorite, and also discovered howhe could afford the luxury of wearing white shirts and white breeches into the paddocks;Mrs. Smith washed and ironed them for him, succumbing to his ready, beguiling charm. "Och,what a fine Irishman he is and all!" Minnie sighed ecstatically. "He's an Australian," saidMeggie provocatively. "Born here, maybe, Miss Meggie darlin', but wit' a name like O'neillnow, he's as Irish as Paddy's pigs, not meanin' any disrespect to yer sainted father, MissMeggie, may he rest in peace and sing wit' the angels. Mr. Luke not Irish, and him wit'that black hair, thim blue eyes? In the old days the O'neills was the kings of Ireland." "Ithought the O'Connors were," said Meggie slyly. Minnie's round little eyes twinkled. "Ah,well now, Miss Meggie, 'twas a big country and all." "Go on! It's about the size of Drogheda! And anyway, O'neill is an Orange name; you can'tfool me." "It is that. But it's a great Irish name and it existed before there were Orangemen everthought of. It is a name from Ulster parts, so it's logical there'd have to be a few ofthim Orange, isn't it now? But there was the O'neill of Clandeboy and the O'neill Mor backwhen, Miss Meggie darlin'." 

 

    Meggie gave up the battle; Minnie had long since lost anymilitant Fenian tendencies she might once have possessed, and could pronounce the word"Orange" without having a stroke. About a week later she ran into Luke O'neill again, down by the creek. She suspected hehad lain in wait for her, but she didn't know what to do about it if he had. "Good afternoon, Meghann." "Good afternoon," said she, looking straight between the chestnut mare's ears. "There's a woolshed ball at Braich y Pwll next Saturday night. Will you come with me?" "Thank you for asking me, but I can't dance. There wouldn't be any point." "I'll teachyou how to dance in two flicks of a dead lamb's tail, so that's no obstacle. Since I'll betaking the squatter's sister, do you think Bob might let me borrow the old Rolls, if notthe new one?" "I said I wouldn't go!" she said, teeth clenched. "You said you couldn'tdance, I said I'd teach you. You never said you wouldn't go with me if you could dance, soI assumed it was the dancing you objected to, not me. Are you going to bark out?" 

 

    Exasperated, she glared at him fiercely, but he only laughed at her. "You're spoiled rotten, young Meghann; it's time you didn't get all your own way." "I'm not spoiled!" "Go on, tell me another! The only girl, all those brothers to run round after you, allthis land and money, a posh house, servants? I know the Catholic Church owns it, but theClearys aren't short of a penny either." That was the big difference between them! shethought triumphantly; it had been eluding her since she met him. Father Ralph would neverhave fallen for outward trappings, but this man lacked his sensitivity; he had no inbuiltantennae to tell him what lay beneath the surface. He rode through life without an idea inhis head about its complexity or its pain. Flabbergasted, Bob handed over the keys to the new Rolls without a murmur; he had staredat Luke for a moment without speaking, then grinned. "I never thought of Meggie going to adance, but take her, Luke, and welcome! I daresay she'd like it, the poor little beggar.She never gets out much. We ought to think of taking her, but somehow we never do." "Whydon't you and Jack and Hughie come, too?" Luke asked, apparently not averse to company. Bob shook his head, horrified. "No, thanks. We're not too keen on dances." Meggie woreher ashes-of-roses dress, not having anything else to wear; it hadn't occurred to her touse some of the stockpiling pounds Father Ralph put in the bank in her name to have dressesmade for parties and balls. 

 

    Until now she had managed to refuse invitations, for men likeEnoch Davies and Alastair MacQueen were easy to discourage with a firm no. They didn't haveLuke O'neill's gall. But as she stared at herself in the mirror she thought she just might go into Gilly nextweek when Mum made her usual trip, visit old Gert and have her make up a few new frocks. For she hated wearing this dress; if she had owned one other even remotely suitable, itwould have been off in a second. Other times, a different black-haired man; it was so tiedup with love and dreams, tears and loneliness, that to wear it for such a one as LukeO'neill seemed a desecration. 

 

    She had grown used to hiding what she felt, to appearingalways calm and outwardly happy. Self-control was growing around her thicker than bark on atree, and sometimes in the night she would think of her mother, and shiver. Would she endup like Mum, cut off from all feeling? Was this how it began for Mum back in the days whenthere was Frank's father? And what on earth would Mum do, what would she say if she knewMeggie had learned the truth about Frank? Oh, that scene in the presbytery! It seemed likeyesterday, Daddy and Frank facing each other, and Ralph holding her so hard he hurt.Shouting those awful things. Everything had fallen into place. Meggie thought she mustalways have known, once she did. She had grown up enough to realize there was more togetting babies than she used to think; some sort of physical contact absolutely forbiddenbetween any but a married couple. What disgrace and humiliation poor Mum must have gonethrough over Frank. No wonder she was the way she was. If it happened to her, Meggiethought, she would want to die. In books only the lowest, cheapest girls had babies outsideof marriage; yet Mum wasn't cheap, could never have been cheap. 

 

    With all her heart Meggiewished Mum could talk to her about it, or that she herself had the courage to bring upthe subject. Perhaps in some small way she might have been able to help. But Mum wasn't thesort of person one could approach, nor would Mum do the approaching. Meggie sighed atherself in the mirror, and hoped nothing like that ever happened to her. Yet she was young;at times like this, staring at herself in the ashes-of-roses dress, she wanted to feel,wanted emotion to blow over her like a strong hot wind. She didn't want to plod like alittle automaton for the rest of her life, she wanted change and vitality and love. Love,and a husband, and babies. What was the use of hungering after a man she could never have?He didn't want her, he never would want her. He said he loved her, but not as a husbandwould love her. Because he was married to the Church. Did all men do that, love someinanimate thing more than they could love a woman? No, surely not all men. The difficultones, perhaps, the complex ones with their seas of doubts and objections, rationalities.But there had to be simpler men, men who could surely love a woman before all else. Menlike Luke O'neill, for instance. 

 

    "I think you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen,"said Luke as he started the Rolls. Compliments were quite out of Meggie's ken; she gave him a startled sidelong glance and said nothing.