ce and according to their lights, but his lights--at least not his
lights, for Harold Beecham. was nothing of a philosopher, but the
furniture of the drawing-room which they illuminated--was more artistic.
What a prince of gentlemanliness and winning gallantries he was in his
quiet way!

This information concerning him was in a letter I received from my
grandmother at Easter:

Who should surprise us with a visit the other day but Harold Beecham. He
was as thin as a whipping-post, and very sunburnt [I smiled, imagining it
impossible for Harold to be any browner than of yore]. He has been near
death's door with the measles--caught them in Queensland while droving,
and got wet. He was so ill that he had to give up charge of that 1600
head of cattle he was bringing. He came to say good-bye to us, as he is
off to Western Australia next week to see if he can mend his fortunes
there. I was afraid he was going to be like young Charters, and swear he
would never come back unless he made a pile, but he says he will be back
next Christmas three years for certain, if he is alive and kicking, as he
says himself.

Why he intends returning at that stipulated time I don't know, as he
never was very communicative, and is more unsociable than ever now. He is
a man who never shows his feelings, but he must feel the loss of his old
position deeply. He seemed surprised not to find you here, and says it
was a pity to set you teaching, as it will take all the life and fun out
of you, and that is the first time I ever heard him express an opinion in
any one's business but his own. Frank Hawden sends kind regards, &c.

Teaching certainly had the effect upon me anticipated by Harold Beecham,
but it was not the teaching but the place in which I taught which was
doing the mischief--good, my mother termed it.

I was often sleepless for more than forty-eight hours at a stretch, and
cried through the nights until my eyes had black rings round them, which
washing failed to remove. The neighbours described me as "a sorrowful
lookin' delicate creetur', that couldn't larf to save her life"--quite a
different character to the girl who at Caddagat was continually chid for
being a romp, a hoyden, a boisterous tomboy, a whirlwind, and for
excessive laughter at anything and everything. I got into such a state of
nervousness that I would jump at the opening of a door or an unexpected
footfall.

When cooling down, after having so vigorously delive