My Brilliant Career by Miles Franklin Page A

I admit. You can apply it to many of our girls, I am sorry to confess, but Sybylla could not be brought under that classification. You must look at her in a different way. If—”
    â€œI look at her as the child of respectable people, and will not have the stage mentioned in connection with her.” Here Grannie thumped her fist down on the table and there was silence, complete, profound. Few dared argue with Mrs. Bossier.
    Dear old lady, she was never angry long, and in a minute or two she proceeded with her breakfast, saying quite pleasantly, “Never mention such a subject to me again; but I’ll tell you what you can do. Next autumn, sometime in March or April, when the fruit-preserving and jam-making are done with, Helen can take the child to Sydney for a month or so, and you can show them round. It will be a great treat for Sybylla, as she has never been in Sydney.”
    â€œThat’s right, let’s strike a bargain on that, Gran,” said Everard.
    â€œYes; it’s a bargain, if I hear no more about the stage. God intends His creatures for a better life than that.”
    After breakfast I was left to entertain Everard for some while. We had a fine time. He was a perfect gentleman and a clever conversationalist.
    I was always desirous of enjoying the company of society people who were well bred and lived according to etiquette, and possessed of leisure and culture sufficient to fill their minds with something more than the price of farm produce and a hard struggle for existence. Hitherto I had only read of such or seen them in pictures, but here was a real live one, and I seized my opportunity with vim. At my questioning and evident interest in his talk he told me of all the latest plays, actors, and actresses with whom he was acquainted, and described the fashionable balls, dinners, and garden parties he attended. Having exhausted this subject, we fell to discussing books, and I recited snatches of poems dear to me.
    Everard placed his hands upon my shoulders and said, “Sybylla, do you know you are a most wonderful girl? Your figure is perfect, your style refreshing, and you have a most interesting face. It is as ever-changing as a kaleidoscope—sometimes merry, then stern, often sympathetic, and always sad when at rest. One would think you had had some sorrow in your life.”
    Lifting my skirt at either side, I bowed several times very low in what I called my stage bow, and called into requisition my stage smile, which displayed two rows of teeth as white and perfect as any twenty-guinea set turned out on a gold plate by a fashionable dentist.
    â€œThe handsome gentleman is very kind to amuse himself at the expense of a little country bumpkin, but he would do well to ascertain if his flattery would go down before administering it next time,” I said sarcastically, and I heard him calling to me as I abruptly went off to shut myself in my room.
    â€œHow dare anyone ridicule me by paying idle, brainless compliments! I knew I was ugly, and did not want anyone to perjure his soul pretending they thought differently. What right had I to be small? Why wasn’t I possessed of a big aquiline nose and a tall commanding figure?” Thus I sat in burning discontent and ill humor until soothed by the scent of roses and the gleamof soft spring sunshine which streamed in through my open window. Some of the flower beds in the garden were completely carpeted with pansy blossoms, all colors, and violets—blue and white, single and double. The scent of mignonette, jonquils, and narcissi filled the air. I reveled in rich perfumes, and these tempted me forth. My ruffled feelings gave way before the delights of the old garden. I collected a number of vases and, filling them with water, set them on a table in the veranda near one of the drawing-room windows. I gathered lapfuls of the lovely blossoms, and commenced arranging them in the vases.
    Part of the old Caddagat house was