Oh, what pleasure I might have derived from companionship with him!  I bit my lip to keep back the tears.  Why did not social arrangements allow a man and a maid to be chums—­chums as two men or two maids may be to each other, enjoying each other without thought beyond pure platonic friendship?  But no; it could not be.  I understood the conceit of men.  Should I be very affable, I feared Everard Grey would imagine he had made a conquest of me.  On the other hand, were I glum he would think the same, and that I was trying to hide my feelings behind a mask of brusquerie.  I therefore steered in a bee-line between the two manners, and remarked with the greatest of indifference: 

“I was not aware that you expected us to be such cronies—­in fact, I have never given the matter a thought.”

He turned away in a piqued style.  Such a beau of beaux, no doubt he was annoyed that an insignificant little country bumpkin should not be flattered by his patronage, or probably he thought me rude or ill-humoured.

Two mornings later uncle Jay-Jay took him to Gool-Gool EN ROUTE for Sydney.  When departing he bade me a kindly good-bye, made me promise to write to him, and announced his intention of obtaining the opinion of some good masters re my dramatic talent and voice, when I came to Sydney as promised by my grandmother.  I stood on the garden fence waving my handkerchief until the buggy passed out of sight among the messmate-trees about half a mile from the house.

“Well I hope, as that dandified ape has gone—­and good riddance to him—­that you will pay more heed to my attentions now,” said Mr Hawden’s voice, as I was in the act of descending from the fence.

“What do you mean by your attentions?” I demanded.

“What do I mean!  That is something like coming to business.  I’ll soon explain.  You know what my intentions are very well.  When I am twenty-four, I will come into my property in England.  It is considerable, and at the end of that time I want to marry you and take you home.  By Jove!  I would just like to take you home.  You’d surprise some English girls I know.”

“There would be more than one person surprised if I married you,” I thought to myself, and laughed till I ached with the motion.

“You infernal little vixen!  What are you laughing at?  You’ve got no more sense than a bat if such a solemn thing only provokes your mirth.”

“Solemn—­why, it’s a screaming farce!” I laughed more and more.

“What’s a farce?” he demanded fiercely.

“The bare idea of you proposing to me.”

“Why?  Have I not as much right to propose as any other man?”

“Man!” I laughed.  “That’s where the absurdity arises.  My child, if you were a man, certainly you could propose, but do you think I’d look at a boy, a child!  If ever I perpetrate matrimony the participant in my degradation will be a fully developed man—­not a hobbledehoy who falls in love, as he terms it, on an average about twice a week.  Love!  Ho!”