I was perched on the high end of a couch, and he was leaning with big careless ease on the piano.  Had grannie seen me, I would have been lectured about unladylike behaviour.

“What is your uncle at today?” he inquired.

“He’s not at anything.  He went to Gool-Gool yesterday on the jury.  Court finishes up today, and he is going to bring the judge home tonight.  That’s why I am dressed so carefully,” I answered.

“Good gracious!  I never thought of court this time as I wasn’t called on the jury, and for a wonder hadn’t so much as a case against a Chinaman.  I was going to stay tonight, but can’t if his worship is going to dine here.”

“Why?  You’re surely not afraid of Judge Fossilt?  He’s a very simple old customer.”

“Imagine dining with a judge in this toggery!” and he glanced down his great figure at his riding gear.

“That doesn’t matter; he’s near-sighted.  I’ll get you put at the far end of the table under my wing.  Men don’t notice dress.  If you weren’t so big uncle or Frank Hawden could oblige you.”

“Do you think I could pass muster?”

“Yes; after I brush you down you’ll look as spruce as a brass penny.

“I did brush myself,” he answered.

“You brush yourself!” I retorted.  “There’s a big splash of mud on your shoulder.  You couldn’t expect to do anything decently, for you’re only a man, and men are the uselessest, good-for-nothingest, clumsiest animals in the world.  All they’re good for is to smoke and swear.”

I fetched a clothes brush.

“You’ll have to stand on the table to reach me,” he said, looking down with amused indulgence.

“As you are so impertinent you can go dusty,” and I tossed the brush away.

The evening was balmy, so I invited him into the garden.  He threw his handkerchief over my chest, saying I might catch cold, but I scouted the idea.

We wandered into an arbour covered with wistaria, banksia, and Marechal Niel roses, and I made him a buttonhole.

A traveller pulled rein in the roadway, and, dismounting, threw his bridle over a paling of the garden fence while he went inside to try and buy a loaf of bread.

I jumped up, frightening the horse so that it broke away, pulling off the paling in the bridle-rein.  I ran to bring a hammer to repair the damage.  Mr Beecham caught the horse while I attempted to drive the nail into—­the fence.  It was a futile attempt.  I bruised my fingers.  He took the hammer from me, and fixing the paling in its place with a couple of well-aimed blows, said laughingly: 

“You drive a nail!  You couldn’t expect to do anything.  You’re only a girl.  Girls are the helplessest, uselessest, troublesomest little creatures in the world.  All they’re good for is to torment and pester a fellow.”

I had to laugh.

At this juncture we heard uncle Jay-Jay’s voice, so Mr Beecham went towards the back, whence it proceeded, after he left me at the front door.