Part 7 (1/2)
”Your being Mrs Bossier's grand-daughter.”
”I fear, Mr Hawden, there is a suspicion reverse of complimentary in your remark.”
”Well, I should smile! Would you like to have my opinion of you?”
”Nothing would please me more. I would value your opinion above all things, and I'm sure--I feel certain--that you have formed a true estimate of me.”
At any other time his conceit would have brought upon himself a fine snubbing, but today I was in high feather, and accordingly very pleasant, and resolved to amuse myself by drawing him out.
”Well, you are not a bit like Mrs Bossier or Mrs Bell; they are both so good-looking,” he continued.
”Indeed!”
”I was disappointed when I saw you had no pretensions to prettiness, as there's not a girl up these parts worth wasting a man's affections on, and I was building great hopes on you. But I'm a great admirer of beauty,” he twaddled.
”I am very sorry for you, Mr Hawden. I'm sure it would take quite a paragon to be worthy of such affection as I'm sure yours would be,” I replied sympathetically.
”Never mind. Don't worry about it. You're not a bad sort, and think a fellow could have great fun with you.”
”I'm sure, Mr Hawden, you do me too much honour. It quite exhilarates me to think that I meet with your approval in the smallest degree,” I replied with the utmost deference. ”You are so gentlemanly and nice that I was alarmed at first lest you might despise me altogether.”
”No fear. You needn't be afraid of me; I'm not a bad sort of fellow,” he replied with the greatest encouragement.
By his accent and innocent style I detected he was not a colonial, so I got him to relate his history. He was an Englishman by birth, but had been to America, Spain, New Zealand, Tasmania, etc.; by his own make out had ever been a man of note, and had played Old Harry everywhere.
I allowed him to gabble away full tilt for an hour on this subject, unconscious that I had taken the measure of him, and was grinning broadly to myself. Then I diverted him by inquiring how long since the wire fence on our right had been put up. It bore evidence of recent erection, and had replaced an old c.o.c.katoo fence which I remembered in my childhood.
”Fine fence, is it not? Eight wires, a top rail, and very stout posts.
Harry Beecham had that put up by contract this year. Twelve miles of it.
It cost him a lot: couldn't get any very low tenders, the ground being so hard on account of the drought. Those trees are Five-Bob Downs--see, away over against the range. But I suppose you know the places better than I do.”
We were now within an hour of our destination. How familiar were many landmarks to me, although I had not seen them since I was eight years old.
A river ran on our right, occasionally a glimmer of its noisy waters visible through the shrubbery which profusely lined its banks. The short evening was drawing to a close. The white mists brought by the rain were crawling slowly down the hills, and settling in the hollows of the ranges on our left. A V-shaped rift in them, known as Pheasant Gap, came into view. Mr Hawden said it was well named, as it swarmed with lyrebirds. Night was falling. The skreel of a hundred curlews arose from the gullies--how I love their lonely wail!--and it was quite dark when we pulled up before the front gate of Caddagat.
A score of dogs rushed yelping to meet us, the front door was thrown open, lights and voices came streaming out.
I alighted from the buggy feeling rather nervous. I was a pauper with a bad character. How would my grandmother receive me? Dear old soul, I had nothing to fear. She folded me in a great warm-hearted hug, saying, ”Dear me, child, your face is cold. I'm glad you've come. It has been a terrible day, but we're glad to have the rain. You must be frozen. Get in to the fire, child, as fast as you can. Get in to the fire, get in to the fire. I hope you forgive me for not going to meet you.” And there was my mother's only sister, my tall graceful aunt, standing beside her, giving me a kiss and cordial hand-clasp, and saying, ”Welcome, Sybylla.
We will be glad to have a young person to brighten up the old home once more. I am sorry I was too unwell to meet you. You must be frozen; come to the fire.”
My aunt always spoke very little and very quietly, but there was something in her high-bred style which went right home.
I could scarcely believe that they were addressing me. Surely they were making a mistake. This reception was meant for some grand relative honouring them with a visit, and not for the ugly, useless, bad little pauper come to live upon their bounty.
Their welcome did more than all the sermons I had ever heard put together towards thawing a little of the pitiless cynicism which encrusted my heart.
”Take the child inside, Helen, as fast as you can,” said grannie, ”while I see that the boy attends to the horses. The plaguey fellow can't be trusted any further than the length of his nose. I told him to tie up these dogs, and here they are yelp-yelping fit to deafen a person.”