My Brilliant Career, Miles Franklin [ebook offline .TXT] 📗

many long, long days in the saddle. I felt certain as I watched him that he had quite forgotten the incident of the little girl with the lemons.

“Sybylla, hurry up and get dressed. Put on your best bib and tucker, and I will leave Harry Beecham in your charge, as I want to superintend the making of some of the dishes myself this evening.”

“It’s too early to put on my evening dress, isn’t it, auntie?”

“It is rather early; but you can’t spare time to change twice. Dress yourself completely; you don’t know what minute your uncle and his worship will arrive.”

I had taken a dip in the creek, so had not to bathe, and it took me but a short time to don full war-paint⁠—blue evening dress, satin slippers, and all. I wore my hair flowing, simply tied with a ribbon. I slipped out into the passage and called aunt Helen. She came.

“I’m ready, auntie. Where is he?”

“In the dining-room.”

“Come into the drawing-room and call him. I will take charge of him till you are at leisure. But, auntie, it will be a long time till dinner⁠—how on earth will I manage him?”

“Manage him!” she laughed; “he is not at all an obstreperous character.”

We had reached the drawing-room by this, and I looked at myself in the looking-glass while aunt Helen went to summon Harold Augustus Beecham, bachelor, owner of Five-Bob Downs, Wyambeet, Wallerawang West, Quat-Quatta, and a couple more stations in New South Wales, besides an extensive one in Queensland.

I noticed as he entered the door that since I had seen him he had washed, combed his stiff black hair, and divested himself of his hat, spurs, and whip⁠—his leggings had perforce to remain, as his nether garment was a pair of closely fitting grey cloth riding-breeches, which clearly defined the shapely contour of his lower limbs.

“Harry, this is Sybylla. I’m sure you need no further introduction. Excuse me, I have something on the fire which is likely to burn.” And aunt Helen hurried off leaving us facing each other.

He stared down at me with undisguised surprise. I looked up at him and laughed merrily. The fun was all on my side. He was a great big man⁠—rich and important. I was a chit⁠—an insignificant nonentity⁠—yet, despite his sex, size, and importance, I was complete master of that situation, and knew it: thus I laughed.

I saw that he recognized me again by the dusky red he flushed beneath his sun-darkened skin. No doubt he regretted having called me a filly above all things. He bowed stiffly, but I held out my hand, saying:

“Do shake hands. When introduced I always shake hands with anyone I think I’ll like. Besides, I seem to know you well. Just think of all the apples you brought me!”

He acceded to my request, holding my hand a deal longer than necessary, and looking at me helplessly. It amused me greatly, for I saw that it was he who did not know how to manage me, and not I that couldn’t manage him.

“ ’Pon my honour, Miss Melvyn, I had no idea it was you, when I said⁠—” Here he boggled completely, which had the effect of reviving my laughter.

“You had no right to be dressed like that⁠—deceiving a fellow. It wasn’t fair.”

“That’s the best of it. It shows what a larrikin Don Juan sort of character you are. You can’t deceive me now if you pretend to be a virtuous well-behaved member of society.”

“That is the first time I’ve ever meddled with any of the kitchen fry, and, by Jove, it will be the last!” he said energetically. “I’ve got myself into a pretty mess.”

“What nonsense you talk,” I replied. “If you say another word about it, I’ll write a full account of it and paste it in my scrapbook. But if you don’t worry about it, neither will I. You said nothing very uncomplimentary; in fact, I was quite flattered.”

I was perched on the high end of a couch, and he was leaning with big careless ease on the piano. Had grannie seen me, I would have been lectured about unladylike behaviour.

“What is your uncle at today?” he inquired.

“He’s not at anything. He went to Gool-Gool yesterday on the jury. Court finishes up today, and he is going to bring the judge home tonight. That’s why I am dressed so carefully,” I answered.

“Good gracious! I never thought of court this time as I wasn’t called on the jury, and for a wonder hadn’t so much as a case against a Chinaman. I was going to stay tonight, but can’t if his worship is going to dine here.”

“Why? You’re surely not afraid of Judge Fossilt? He’s a very simple old customer.”

“Imagine dining with a judge in this toggery!” and he glanced down his great figure at his riding gear.

“That doesn’t matter; he’s nearsighted. I’ll get you put at the far end of the table under my wing. Men don’t notice dress. If you weren’t so big uncle or Frank Hawden could oblige you.”

“Do you think I could pass muster?”

“Yes; after I brush you down you’ll look as spruce as a brass penny.”

“I did brush myself,” he answered.

“You brush yourself!” I retorted. “There’s a big splash of mud on your shoulder. You couldn’t expect to do anything decently, for you’re only a man, and men are the uselessest, good-for-nothingest, clumsiest animals in the world. All they’re good for is to smoke and swear.”

I fetched a clothes brush.

“You’ll have to stand on the table to reach me,” he said, looking down with amused indulgence.

“As you are so impertinent you can go dusty,” and I tossed the brush away.

The evening was balmy, so I invited him into the garden. He threw his handkerchief over my chest, saying I might catch cold, but I scouted the idea.

We wandered into an arbour covered with wistaria, banksia, and Marechal Niel roses, and I made him a buttonhole.

A traveller pulled rein in the roadway, and, dismounting, threw his bridle over a paling of