I was to be given more time on account of being ugly—­I was not a valuable article in the marriage market, sweet thought!  My grandmother is one of the good old school, who believed that a girl’s only proper sphere in life was marriage; so, knowing her sentiments, her purpose to get me married neither surprised nor annoyed me.  But I was plain.  Ah, bosh!  Oh!  Ah!  I cannot express what kind of a feeling that fact gave me.  It sank into my heart and cut like a cruel jagged knife—­not because it would be a drawback to me in the marriage line, for I had an antipathy to the very thought of marriage.  Marriage to me appeared the most horribly tied-down and unfair-to-women existence going.  It would be from fair to middling if there was love; but I laughed at the idea of love, and determined never, never, never to marry.

The other side of the letter—­the part which gave me joy—­was the prospect of going to Caddagat.

Caddagat, the place where I was born!  Caddagat, whereat, enfolded in grandmotherly love and the petting which accrued therefrom, I spent some of my few sweet childish days.  Caddagat, the place my heart fondly enshrines as home.  Caddagat, draped by nature in a dream of beauty.  Caddagat, Caddagat!  Caddagat for me, Caddagat for ever!  I say.

Too engrossed with my thoughts to feel the cold of the dull winter day, I remained in my position against the wattle-tree until Gertie came to inform me that tea was ready.

“You know, Sybylla, it was your turn to get the tea ready; but I set the table to save you from getting into a row.  Mother was looking for you, and said she supposed you were in one of your tantrums again.”

Pretty little peacemaker!  She often did things like that for me.

“Very well, Gertie, thank you.  I will set it two evenings running to make up for it—­if I’m here.”

If you are here!  What do you mean?”

“I am going away,” I replied, watching her narrowly to see if she cared, for I was very hungry for love.

“Going to run away becauses mother is always scolding you?”

“No, you little silly!  I’m going up to Caddagat to live with grannie.”

“Always?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Honour bright?”

“Yes; really and truly and honour bright.”

“Won’t you ever come back again?”

“I don’t know about never coming back again; but I’m going up for always, as far as a person can lay out ahead of her.  Do you care?”

Yes she cared.  The childish mouth quivered, the pretty blue-eyed face fell, the ready tears flowed fast.  I noticed every detail with savage comfort.  It was more than I deserved, for, though I loved her passionately, I had ever been too much wrapped in self to have been very kind and lovable to her.

“Who will tell me stories now?”