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Updated: June 19, 2025
"No, Everard; there are very few who succeed on the stage. I would not use my influence, as it is a life of which I do not approve." "But Sybylla would succeed. I am a personal friend of the leading managers, and my influence would help her greatly." "Yes; but what would you do with her? A young gentleman couldn't take charge of a girl and bring her out without ruining her reputation.
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 refreshing, 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."
My frame of mind was such that it seemed it would not signify if all our clothes went to the dogs, and the clothes of our neighbours, and the clothes of the whole world, and the world itself for the matter of that. "Sybylla, you are a dirty careless washer.
"Talk away," I responded rather sullenly, for I expected a long sing-song about my good-for-nothingness in general a subject of which I was heartily tired. "Sybylla, I've been studying the matter over a lot lately. It's no use, we cannot afford to keep you at home. You'll have to get something to do."
"See what he wants and let him get away to his work, or your grannie will be vexed to see him loitering about all the morning." "Miss Sybylla," he began, when we were left alone, I want to apologize to you. I had no right to plague you, but it all comes of the way I love you. A fellow gets jealous at the least little thing, you know."
I had not the opportunity of any more private interviews with Everard Grey till one morning near his departure, when we happened to be alone on the veranda. "Well, Miss Sybylla," he began, "when I arrived I thought you and I would have been great friends; but we have not progressed at all. How do you account for that?" As he spoke he laid his slender shapely hand kindly upon my head.
Can you look at me straight, Sybylla, and say that Harold has not extended you something more than common politeness?" Had aunt Helen put that question to me a day before, I would have blushed and felt guilty. But today not so. The words of the jackeroo the night before had struck home. "A hideous barbarian", he had called me, and it seemed to me he had spoken the truth.
"No, uncle; but there was a poor young fellow here this morning who, I feel sure, was in earnest when he asked for work." "Helen!" bawled uncle Jay-Jay. "Well, what is it?" she inquired, appearing in the doorway. "Next time Sybylla is giving a tramp some tucker, you keep a sharp eye on her or she will be sloping one of these days.
I will have to give the little ones to some of the relatives; the bigger ones will have to go out to service, and so will your father and I. That's all I can see ahead of us. I still made no reply, so my mother inquired, "Well, Sybylla, what do you think of the matter?" "Do you think it absolutely necessary to break up the home?" I said.
You'd really think they had such a thing, aunt Helen, to hear you talk. Hurt their vanity for a few days is the most a woman could do with any of them. I am sick of this preach, preach about playing with men's hearts. It is an old fable which should have been abolished long ago. It does not matter how a woman is played with." "Sybylla, you talk at random.
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