The polite man chatted to Mrs. Crasterton. Goring Hardy excused himself, something entailed4 cabling. Mrs. Crasterton and the Polite Man continued a conversation on family matters while I gazed about me. Oh, the books! Mrs. Crasterton had another engagement, and the Polite Man said she could leave the little lady in his charge, and he or Mr. Hardy would send her home safely in a cab. Mr. Hardy made many apologies and escorted Mrs. Crasterton down stairs with most knightly5 tenderness, making jokes and yarning6. When he returned he dived into his papers again without taking any notice of me. The Polite Man talked to me a while and then began to shut drawers, got his stick and hat, straightened his waistcoat in the way which suggests it would be more comfortable to bone this garment unaffectedly like a bodice. Then he whispered that Mr. Hardy would soon be done, and departed.
Mr. Hardy, with his nose down, said that if anything urgent came in he would attend to it.
He continued quill7 driving until his colleague, with fussy8 good-byes, had withdrawn9, when he flung the pen across the room to the fireplace and erected10 a placard with
OUT
on it, and said in an impelling11 tone, “Come!”
We went up a little stairway into a snuggery, which Mr. Hardy said was old Cunningham’s private lair12.
“What do you think of that for a chair?” said he, backing me into a huge one while he sat across the arms so that I was imprisoned13. “Now, we’ll enjoy ourselves.”
“About writing any more books,” I stammered14, “I’ve decided15 not to. I shall have to earn my living. We’re poor.”
“We’re not going to think about books today,” he laughed.
“I mustn’t waste your time,” I said uneasily, trying to get out of the chair without touching16 him.
“I don’t let anyone waste my time, little one. I’ve manoeuvred this opportunity to have a talk free from the idiots one meets at dinners and things, who want to make a tin-pot lion out of the most innocent of us.”
“I couldn’t possibly waste your time,” I said again. I did not know how to cope with the grave breach17 of the conventions he was forcing upon me. I was so hurt about it that I was petrified18.
“You must see these etchings,” he said in a manner surprising after the way he had ignored my waiting presence for more than an hour. “Old Cunningham has some stunning19 prints from London, and you shall be the first to see them.”
He went down stairs and came back with a vast book. He dawdled20 over every picture, but they came to an end at last and I rose again, longing21 to escape and murmuring about trespassing22 upon his time. He inquired point blank, “Don’t you like being here with me? Do I bore you?”
BORED! It would have been thrilling but for the wound to my sense of propriety23. He wouldn’t do this to Edmée or any girl who knew the ropes, I felt.
He removed the sting by saying, “I had practically to kidnap you. There is a howling pack after you and another after me, and this was our only chance of enjoying ourselves simply. Mrs. Crasterton will know you are as safe as a church. I’ll send for afternoon tea.”
I sat down, but with an uneasiness which was partly genuine shyness.
“You really are more unsophisticated than I could have believed,” he said, and entertained ripe delightfully24 all the afternoon. Oh, the books! I was a duck reared in a desert seeing a pond for the first time. I gained ease, Mr. Hardy was now treating me delightfully. Time ran all too quickly, and I had to insist upon departure.
“It was lovely. Thank you for entertaining me.”
“Look here, we must take the law into our hands and escape to enjoy our own society, and keep it secret or we should soon be smoked out of cover. The rabble25 has no right to bore us to death.”
This was most flattering, and he took me home to Mrs. Crasterton himself.
Edmée questioned me, but was not too persistent26, as she was dressing27 for a ball to which Mrs. Crasterton was chaperoning her, and from which my lack both of clothes and accomplishments28 shut me. I said that Mr. Hardy had been too busy to bother much with me, that I had looked at a lot of books.
“But why did you stay so long?”
“I had to wait till he could bring me home.”
Gaddy was to look after me for the evening, for which I was grateful in view of the danger of Big Ears turning up on the way to the ball. Gad29 collected children’s books, which seemed to me a peculiar30 hobby for an old bachelor. He read from them. I never had had any children’s books. Ma thought them trash and I don’t believe that Pa ever heard of them.
Gad and I got on famously till half past nine, when there was a ring. “If it’s Big Ears, don’t leave me alone with him for a single moment,” I pled.
“I promise, but why, what on earth...but it can wait.”
It was Big Ears. In response to Gad’s interrogations he said that he was bored to the spine31 with the dance, and why had Gad not been there?
“Why, with the beauteous Edmée, that is strange, did someone cut you out?” grinned Gad.
“Why did you neglect your duty, were you lame32?” demanded Big Ears. “Derek disappeared after the first dance and left her on my hands.”
“I understood that you would be after me with a gun if I did not give way,” said Gad.
“Yes, and you are so persistent that the lady is worn out.”
They both laughed. I listened in amazement33 to the workings of male vanity in saving face.
I excused myself and left Gad to the guest. He went early. One more night safely past. But I had a habit of running down to the sea wall to watch the sun rise over the Harbor, and Big Ears had found this out. There he was waiting for me next morning. He insisted upon bringing me up to the scratch. I would as soon have married a moon calf34, whatever that may be, and thought it like his insufferability to be squawking after Edmée one week and trying to fool me the next, but I said I could not be so wicked as to drag him down to my level. “I’m a free-thinker,” I said, piling it on a little. “It is as bad for a woman to be without religion as a flower to be without perfume. That is the companion piece of love being for men a thing apart, but for women their whole existence.”
Big Ears was commended as a remarkable35 young man who not only taught in Sunday School, but carried on the custom of his father in reading family prayers each morning to his household. “I would laugh out loud to see you reading prayers, you’d look so funny and young,” I added.
That should finish him, I thought, and raced up the terraces and into the house. Gad met me. “Hey,” he began, “what about Big Ears?”
“Gaddy, I can trust you like everything, can’t I?”
“That’s what I’m living for,” grinned he.
“Well, you see, Big Ears is trying to flirt36 with me, and it puts me in a fix as Edmée might think it was my fault. He is so dead gone on her.”
“Did the Actem tell you that?”
“Well, yes, but you’ll treat it confidentially37?”
“And that put you off Big Ears—well, well, I never thought I’d be grateful to the Actem. I must give her a pair of gloves for this.”
I asked what he meant, but he only cackled and kept on saying, “So she dished Big Ears by that, God bless m’soul, ha! Ha!”
Mrs. Crasterton came in and wanted to hear the joke, but Gaddy winked38 at me and dived into his paper. Mr. Wilting39’s paper had come and my article was in it. I was painfully self-conscious about it, but Mrs. Crasterton praised it kindly40, and I was longing for the money. I telephoned to Mr. Wilting to thank him and to ask ho much I should be paid, hoping it would be enough for an evening dress.
“My dear little girl,” he said, “you wouldn’t get any money for that. I put it in out of my interest to keep you before the public.” My acute disappointment was equalled by the feeling that I had been vulgar and pushing in bringing myself to notice. How was I to make a few shillings for an evening dress? I had suffered the notice solely41 to that end.
I was called to the drawing-room to meet a young man who said he was a free lance, and by interviewing me could make a guinea. I said I nearly fainted each time I was mentioned in the papers, and was trying my very best to get out of sight and be forgotten, could he not interview some important person instead? He said he would be surer of the guinea if he wrote about me, and pled with me to be a good sport and help him. He was one of a number who had come with similar pleas and who were able to make a guinea by submitting me to the torture of fresh notice, but I couldn’t make a penny anywhere. The few shillings Ma had given me in pocket money were running out because people bullied42 me for copies of my book—said I must present one to the public library and to this and that—and I had to buy these at Cunningham and Bucklers. I felt pecked to death for lack of a few pounds. Hopes of an evening gown receded43.
Mrs. Crasterton cut the interview short by calling me to the telephone. Sir James Hobnob wanted to speak to me. I found that it was Goring Hardy. “Say,” he drawled, “I enjoyed you so much yesterday that we must make a break for it again this afternoon. I’ll ring the Old Campaigner again in a few minutes.” He left me to do my own prevaricating44.
“What did he want?” asked Mrs. Crasterton.
“He got rung off,” I said.
“There he is again now,” she said, going to the telephone. It was Mr. Hardy saying that he was so sorry that he had been unable to give me any time yesterday—but these things can’t be helped, you know. If Mrs. Crasterton would spare me again this afternoon he would see that we were not disturbed and he would advise me as best he could concerning future work. I had everything to learn. “Of course, of course,” agreed Mrs. Crasterton. Today he invited me to his aunt’s flat.
“Do I know your aunt?” inquired Mrs. Crasterton.
It was established that they had served together on Committees. Aunt spoke45 to Mrs. Crasterton on the telephone and said that she would be waiting for me at the wharf46. Her flat was right in the city, which made it convenient for Goring.
Another ring was from Mrs. Thrumnoddy. She ordered me to meet her that afternoon at the Australia, where she was having a few distinguished47 people, and made it plain that it was a distinguished honour for me to be asked. I said I had another engagement, but she said, “Get out of it”. Mr. Goring Hardy was to be with her, and a man like that had to be considered. It would do me good to meet him. Mrs. Crasterton said that I could go to her from my other engagement. I begged Mrs. Crasterton not to mention that I was seeing Mr. Hardy, as it would take the wind out of Mrs. Thrumnoddy’s sails, and she would put it in the paper, and Mr. Hardy would think I was a chatterer. Mrs. Crasterton said she told Mrs. Thrumnoddy only those things she wished to be reported. That settled that nicely.
Mr. Hardy himself was waiting for me at the wharf, and we jumped into a cab and went straight to his aunt’s flat. Aunt looked me over piercingly, but asked no questions. Mr. Hardy spread out books and stationery48 in a workmanlike way and assumed his public shell towards me, which was brisk and ignoring. I dived into my r?le of girly-girly bushkin from ‘Possum Gully. Presently Aunt came in hatted and with a hand portmanteau. She and Goring had a colloquy49, from which I gathered that she was leaving for a week. She merely nodded good-day to me and went.
Mr. Hardy made sure that we were locked against intrusion, and then acted like a boy leaving school. He whirled me around, tossed me on to the table and sat looking at me with a leaping light in his eyes. “Now let us both come out of our shells. In spite of your cast-iron shyness there must be mines of things in you. You could not write as you do and just be the ordinary miss.”
“That is just writing,” I murmured.
“We cannot express passions and longings50 in an original and convincing way if they are not in us. It is your power of emotion that attracts me.”
“My Pa put that part in for fun.”
“Nonsense!” he said, and laughed. “You have a puckish sense of humour.”
I said nothing, so he tried a different tack51. “Do you like pretty things?”
“Oh, yes!” I exclaimed with frank eagerness. “But my blue sash is the only pretty or expensive thing I have ever had, except of course, horses.”
“What a dashed shame! You would be a beauty in a different sort of way if you were properly tricked out. Let me plan a turn-out from sole to crown by some smart dress-maker—something to show your curves and pretty arms.”
In accordance with my upbringing it was an affront52, almost an outrage53 to be offered clothes. Clothes could be offered with propriety only to a child or perhaps to a “person”, and we were not in the person class.
“Shall we take the colour of your eyes, your hair or your cheeks and work out a scheme? I’d just like to see the flutter you would cause if you were properly dressed.”
“Oh, please, my mother taught me not to accept presents from gentlemen.”
“Your mother was quite right, but I am different.”
“She told me that all the men would say that.”
He had a real good laugh; it was nice to hear him.
“Your mother made a good job of you, but it would be quite safe to take a little present from me. It wouldn’t...”
“It wouldn’t?”
“Yes, I wouldn’t—hang it all, little one, you know what I mean.”
I gazed at him in owl-like fashion, which I suddenly found most effective.
“Oh, well,” he said at length. “I must not expect you to run before you learn to walk in a new dimension. We must think out schemes for your future.”
He asked business-like questions about my means, and I told how poor we were and that I must earn my living and that I hated teaching and did not want to get carried.
“Are you in love with anyone?” he demanded quite fiercely.
“Not one scrap54. I never have been for a moment. I don’t want ever to get married.”
“That’s the best poem I’ve heard since I left London,” he laughed. “You can write, you know.”
“Do you really think so?”
“There isn’t anyone in Australia with your gifts today, but you must put them on the right rails for success. I can help you there if only we can have a little time to ourselves, without all the old cats miauling and ruining our game. You must get clear of the Old Campaigner for a start.”
“She is very kind; you could come there.”
“Faugh! Writers must have a retreat without anyone knowing where they are or what they are doing.”
He asked me my Sydney connections, which were Pa’s old-time parliamentary colleagues, especially Mr. Simms, The Minister for Education.
“We’ll go and see him,” said he.
I reminded him of Mrs. Thrumnoddy’s tea at the Australia, where he was going, and that she had said I must go because he was to be there.
“Is that how she worked it on us? That woman would sell her skin—she hasn’t any soul—to bag a social lion. Why should we go there when we can see each other here so much better?” He chuckled55. So did I. “Do you think that the Old Campaigner will split about where you are?”
“No. I asked her not to because Mrs. Thrumnoddy put it in the paper that I had only cotton stockings—and they are cashmere.”
This made him hilarious56 and he put on his hat. “Come, we’ll rout57 out a few people in Macquarie Street. We must start your career.”
We had a friendly time in both Houses of Parliament. I was disappointed that our law makers58 were such common looking old men, but to be with Mr. Hardy gave the visit glamour59. Everybody made a fuss of him and seemed to think it just right for him to have me in tow. “You’ll teach her the ropes and see that she makes the most of her genius,” was the sort of thing they said. Mr. Hardy acted as though I were a child he was indulging, but sometimes in his eye was a look which a woman knows for what it is without EXPERIENCE. I sat on the seat beside Sir Somebody in the Upper House, and we were given tea in the M.L.A. Place. Mr. Simms had us wait while he spoke in debate, and then gave us coffee in his room. I had not seen him since I was a child, and it was a day full of debate, but he was cordial and said Mrs. Simms would take me home to stay with her. Everybody thought Mr. Hardy a great man, and that my career was on the way to glory under his guidance.
He accompanied me across in the ferry. (How I revelled60 in travelling on the ferries!) He saw me to the gates of Geebung Villa61. “We must have all the days we can together. I’ll fix up something for tomorrow.”
Mrs. Crasterton was quite fussy about my late appearance. She had returned a few minutes earlier to find that Mrs. Thrumnoddy had called up three times during the afternoon. Mrs. Crasterton was surprised to hear that I had not gone to the Australia. I said that Mr. Hardy had not gone either, that he thought it was much more important to give me a lesson in style, and that we had been at the House of Parliament seeing my father’s old friends.
Mrs. Thrumnoddy rang again. She was angry to be flouted62 by a little country bumpkin. Mrs. Crasterton said I had better make my own excuses. “I’m so sorry,” I murmured into the ‘phone, “but I was detained by the Minister for Education in Debate, and I was frightened to go to your party in cashmere stockings. I knew if you had Mr. Hardy I should not be missed, because he was at Parliament House while I was there, and everyone was so excited to see him that they did not notice me.”
Gaddy came in while I was saying this, and patted me on the back. I told him that Mr. Wilting had not paid for my article, and Gaddy snorted, “The old swine, he wants a kick in the pants. He was too tight to turn in any copy and filled his space with your article.”
There was a letter from Big Ears which thickened that plot. He said that it would be the aim of his life to turn me to spiritual things. If I would marry him, to show his tender regard, when he brought me home, prayers would be discontinued until I expressed a wish for them to be resumed. Would I meet him in the morning to give him my answer. He said he would be praying for me all night. I thought, “‘Bust him’, he ought to join the Salvation63 Army.”
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1
hardy
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| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
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celebrities
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| n.（尤指娱乐界的）名人( celebrity的名词复数 )；名流；名声；名誉 | |
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goring
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| v.（动物）用角撞伤，用牙刺破( gore的现在分词 ) | |
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entailed
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| 使…成为必要( entail的过去式和过去分词 )； 需要； 限定继承； 使必需 | |
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5
knightly
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| adj. 骑士般的 adv. 骑士般地 | |
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yarning
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| vi.讲故事（yarn的现在分词形式） | |
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7
quill
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| n.羽毛管；v.给（织物或衣服）作皱褶 | |
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8
fussy
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| adj.为琐事担忧的，过分装饰的，爱挑剔的 | |
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9
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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10
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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11
impelling
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| adj.迫使性的，强有力的v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的现在分词 ) | |
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12
lair
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| n.野兽的巢穴；躲藏处 | |
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13
imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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14
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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15
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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16
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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17
breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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18
petrified
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| adj.惊呆的；目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆，使惊呆；变僵硬；使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
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19
stunning
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| adj.极好的；使人晕倒的 | |
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dawdled
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| v.混（时间）( dawdle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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trespassing
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| [法]非法入侵 | |
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propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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24
delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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rabble
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| n.乌合之众，暴民；下等人 | |
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persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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accomplishments
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| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
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gad
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| n.闲逛；v.闲逛 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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spine
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| n.脊柱，脊椎；(动植物的)刺；书脊 | |
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lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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33
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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34
calf
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| n.小牛，犊，幼仔，小牛皮 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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flirt
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| v.调情，挑逗，调戏；n.调情者，卖俏者 | |
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confidentially
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| ad.秘密地，悄悄地 | |
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winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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wilting
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| 萎蔫 | |
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40
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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41
solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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42
bullied
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| adj.被欺负了v.恐吓，威逼( bully的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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43
receded
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的过去式和过去分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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44
prevaricating
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| v.支吾( prevaricate的现在分词 )；搪塞；说谎 | |
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45
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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46
wharf
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| n.码头，停泊处 | |
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47
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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48
stationery
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| n.文具；(配套的)信笺信封 | |
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49
colloquy
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| n.谈话，自由讨论 | |
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50
longings
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| 渴望，盼望( longing的名词复数 ) | |
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51
tack
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| n.大头钉；假缝，粗缝 | |
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52
affront
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| n./v.侮辱，触怒 | |
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53
outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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54
scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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55
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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56
hilarious
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| adj.充满笑声的，欢闹的；[反]depressed | |
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57
rout
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| n.溃退，溃败；v.击溃，打垮 | |
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58
makers
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| n.制造者，制造商（maker的复数形式） | |
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59
glamour
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| n.魔力，魅力；vt.迷住 | |
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60
revelled
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| v.作乐( revel的过去式和过去分词 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
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61
villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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62
flouted
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| v.藐视，轻视( flout的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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63
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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