sipping
from hundreds of trees, white or pink with bloom--their beauty was lost
upon me. I stood ankle-deep in violets, where they had run wild under a
gnarled old apple-tree, and gave way to my wounded vanity.

"Little country maiden, indeed! There's no need for him to bag his
attractions up. If he exerted himself to the utmost of his ability, he
could not make me love him. I'm not a child. I saw through him in the
first hour. There's not enough in him to win my love. I'll show him I
think no more of him than of the caterpillars on the old tree there. I'm
not a booby that will fall in love with every gussie I see. Bah, there's
no fear of that! I hate and detest men!"

"I suppose you are rehearsing some more airs to show off with tonight,"
sneered a voice behind me.

"No, I'm realisticing; and how _dare_ you thrust your obnoxious presence
before me when I wish to be alone! Haven't I often shown--"

"While a girl is disengaged, any man who is her equal has the right to
pay his addresses to her if he is in earnest," interrupted Mr Hawden. It
was he who stood before me.

"I am well aware of that," I replied. "But it is a woman's privilege to
repel those attentions if distasteful to her. You seem disinclined to
accord me that privilege."

Having delivered this retort, I returned to the house, leaving him
standing there looking the fool he was.

I do not believe in spurning the love of a blackfellow if he behaves in a
manly way; but Frank Hawden was such a drivelling mawkish style of
sweetheart that I had no patience with him.

Aunt Helen and Everard had vacated the drawing-room, so I plumped down on
the piano-stool and dashed into Kowalski's galop, from that into "Gaite
de Coeur" until I made the piano dance and tremble like a thing
possessed. My annoyance faded, and I slowly played that saddest of
waltzes, "Weber's Last". I became aware of a presence in the room, and,
facing about, confronted Everard Grey.

"How long have you been here?" I demanded sharply.

"Since you began to play. Where on earth did you learn to play? Your
execution is splendid. Do sing 'Three Fishers', please."

"Excuse me; I haven't time now. Besides I am not competent to sing to
you," I said brusquely, and made my exit.

"Mr Hawden wants you, Sybylla," called aunt Helen. "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 we