My Brilliant Career by Miles Franklin Page B

built of slabs, and one of the wooden walls ran along the veranda side of the drawing room, so the songs Aunt Helen and Everard Grey were trying on the piano came as a sweet accompaniment to my congenial task.
    Presently they left off singing and commenced talking. Under the same circumstances a heroine of a story would have slipped away; or, if that were impossible without discovery, she would have put her fingers in her ears, and would have been in a terrible state of agitation lest she should hear something not intended for her. I did not come there with a view to eavesdropping. It is a degradation to which I never stoop. I thought they were aware of my presence on the veranda; but it appears they were not, as they began to discuss me (wonderfully interesting subject to myself), and I stayed there, without one word of disapproval from my conscience, to listen to their conversation.
    â€œMy word, didn’t Gran make a to-do this morning when I proposed to train Sybylla for the stage! Do you know that girl is simply reeking with talent; I must have her trained. I will keep bringing the idea before Gran until she gets used to it. I’ll work the we-should-use-the-gifts-God-has-given-us racket for all it is worth, and you might use your influence too, Helen.”
    â€œNo, Everard; there are very few who succeed on the stage. I would not use my influence, as it is a life of which I do not approve.”
    â€œBut Sybylla
would
succeed. I am a personal friend of the leading managers, and my influence would help her greatly.”
    â€œYes; but what would you do with her? A young gentlemancouldn’t take charge of a girl and bring her out without ruining her reputation. There would be no end of scandal, as the sister theory would only be nonsense.”
    â€œThere is another way; I could easily stop scandal.”
    â€œEverard, what do you mean!”
    â€œI mean marriage,” he replied deliberately.
    â€œSurely, boy, you must be dreaming! You have only seen her for an hour or two. I don’t believe in these sudden attachments.”
    Perhaps she here thought of one (her own) as sudden, which had not ended happily. “Everard, don’t do anything rashly. You know you are very fickle and considered a lady-killer—be merciful to my poor little Sybylla, I pray. It is just one of your passing fancies. Don’t wile her passionate young heart away and then leave her to pine and die.”
    â€œI don’t think she is that sort,” he replied laughingly.
    â€œNo, she would not die, but would grow into a cynic and skeptic, which is the worst of fates. Let her alone. Flirt as much as you will with society belles who understand the game, but leave my country maiden alone. I hope to mold her into a splendid character yet.”
    â€œBut, Helen, supposing I am in earnest at last, you don’t think I’d make her a bad old hubby, do you?”
    â€œShe is not the girl for you. You are not the man who could ever control her. What I say may not be complimentary but it is true. Besides, she is not seventeen yet, and I do not approve of romantic young girls throwing themselves into matrimony. Let them develop their womanhood first.”
    â€œThen I expect I had better hide my attractions under a bushel during the remainder of my stay at Caddagat?”
    â€œYes. Be as nice to the child as you like, but mind, none of those little ladies’-man attentions with which it is so easy to steal—”
    I waited to hear no more, but, brimming over with a mixture of emotions, tore through the garden and into the old orchard. Bees were busy, and countless bright-colored butterflies flitted hither and thither, sipping from hundreds of trees, white or pink with bloom—their beauty was lost upon me. I stood ankle-deepin violets, where they had run wild under a gnarled old apple tree, and gave way to my wounded vanity.
    â€œLittle country maiden, indeed! There’s no need for him