Part 10 (2/2)
”What nonsense! What would you have her do when she was taught?”
”Go on the stage, of course. With her talent and hair she would cause quite a sensation.”
Now grannie's notions re the stage were very tightly laced. All actors and actresses, from the lowest circus man up to the most glorious cantatrice, were people defiled in the sight of G.o.d, and utterly outside the pale of all respectability, when measured with her code of morals.
She turned energetically in her chair, and her keen eyes flashed with scorn and anger as she spoke.
”Go on the stage! A grand-daughter of mine! Lucy's eldest child! An actress--a vile, low, brazen hussy! Use the gifts G.o.d has given her with which to do good in showing off to a crowd of vile bad men! I would rather see her struck dead at my feet this instant! I would rather see her shear off her hair and enter a convent this very hour. Child, promise you will never be a bold bad actress.”
”I will never be a _bold bad_ actress, grannie,” I said, putting great stress on the adjectives, and bringing out the actress very faintly.
”Yes,” she continued, calming down, ”I'm sure you have not enough bad in you. You may he boisterous, and not behave with sufficient propriety sometimes, but I don't think you are wicked enough to ever make an actress.”
Everard attempted to defend his case.
”Look here, gran, that's a very exploded old notion about the stage being a low profession. It might have been once, but it is quite the reverse nowadays. There are, of course, low people on the stage, as there are in all walks of life. I grant you that; but if people are good they can be good on the stage as well as anywhere else. On account of a little prejudice it would be a sin to rob Sybylla of the brilliant career she might have.”
”Career!” exclaimed his foster-mother, catching at the word. ”Career!
That is all girls think of now, instead of being good wives and mothers and attending to their homes and doing what G.o.d intended. All they think of is gadding about and being fast, and ruining themselves body and soul. And the men are as bad to encourage them,” looking severely at Everard.
”There is a great deal of truth in what you say, gran, I admit. You can apply it to many of our girls, I am sorry to confess, but Sybylla could not be brought under that cla.s.sification. You must look at her in a different way. If--”
”I 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, some time 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.”
”That's right, let's strike a bargain on that, gran,” said Everard.
”Yes; it's a bargain, if I hear no more about the stage. G.o.d 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 fas.h.i.+onable b.a.l.l.s, dinners, and garden-parties he attended. Having exhausted this subject, we fell to discussing books, and I recited s.n.a.t.c.hes 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 refres.h.i.+ng, 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 fas.h.i.+onable dentist.
”The handsome gentleman is very kind to amuse himself at the expense of a little country b.u.mpkin, 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.
”How dare anyone ridicule me by paying idle brainless compliments! I knew I was ugly, and did not want any one 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-humour until soothed by the scent of roses and the gleam of soft spring suns.h.i.+ne which streamed in through my open window. Some of the flower-beds in the garden were completely carpeted with pansy blossoms, all colours, and violets-blue and white, single and double. The scent of mignonette, jonquils, and narcissi filled the air. I revelled 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.
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