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His idea for this opinion was that I was able to talk theatres with him, and was the only girl there, and because he had arrived at that overflowing age when young men have to be partial to some female whether she be ugly or pretty, fat or lean, old or young. That I should be the object of these puerile emotions in a fellow like Frank Hawden, filled me with loathing and disgust.
"Not remembering my birth, I can't swear; but I believe myself to be that same, as sure as eggs is eggs," I replied. He laughed. "Very good imitation of the coach-driver. But Mrs Bossier's grand-daughter! Well, I should smile!" "What at?" "Your being Mrs Bossier's grand-daughter." "I fear, Mr Hawden, there is a suspicion reverse of complimentary in your remark." "Well, I should smile!
I was enjoying myself tip-top, and chuckled to think of the way I had euchred Frank Hawden. It was such a good joke that I considered it worth two of the blowings-up I was sure of getting from grannie for my conduct.
Carried away by I don't know what sort of a spirit, I exclaimed, "Very well, I will, if you will wait till I make up, and will help me." I disappeared for a few minutes, and returned made up as a fat old Irish woman, with a smudge of dirt on my face. There was a general laugh. Would Mr Hawden assist me?
But Mr Hawden got huffy at the ridicule which he suspected I was calling down upon him, and jumped up looking fit to eat me. I acted several more impromptu scenes with the other occupants of the drawing-room. Mr Hawden emitted "Humph!" from the corner where he grumpily sat, but Mr Grey was full of praise. "Splendid! splendid!" he exclaimed.
It was one of my duties, or rather privileges, to ride thither on Thursday afternoon for the post, a leather bag slung round my shoulders for the purpose. I always had a splendid mount, and the weather being beautifully hot, it was a jaunt which I never failed to enjoy. Frank Hawden went with me once or twice not because grannie or I thought his escort necessary.
I hadn't time to say more than promise to send his remembrances to my father, for Mr Hawden, saying we would be in the dark, had whipped his horses and was bowling off at a great pace, in less than two minutes covering a rise which put Gool-Gool out of sight.
I did not encounter Frank Hawden again till the afternoon, when he leered at me in a very triumphant manner. I stiffened myself and drew out of his way as though he had been some vile animal. At this treatment he whined, so I agreed to talk the matter over with him and have done with it once and for all.
There is to be a very swell ball at Wyambeet next month, and Harry says I am to keep nearly all my dances for him. Frank Hawden sailed for England last week. We have a new jackeroo. He is better-looking than Frank, but I don't like him as well. Grannie's and aunt Helen's letters to my mother corroborated these admissions. Grannie wrote: Harry Beecham seems to be very much struck with Gertie.
He was on his way to water some dogs, so I accompanied him out to the stables near the kennels, to be out of hearing of the household. I opened fire without any beating about the bush. "I ask you, Mr Hawden, if you have any sense of manliness, from this hour to cease persecuting me with your idiotic professions of love. I have two sentiments regarding it, and in either you disgust me.
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