SYLVIA JACKSON.
"Marry? Why should I? I am perfectly happy as I am. My father dotes on
me and gives me everything I ask for. I know at least a score of men who
regard me as the last thing in feminine perfection. I am perfectly
content to remain as I am."
Sylvia Jackson, fair haired, ethereal, as Desmond O'Connor had described
her, with large, rather sleepy, blue eyes, looked at Kathleen O'Connor
in surprise.
"But you may fall in love," suggested Kathleen.
"Love? I really don't know what it means. I have always liked to have a
few men about me and know that they will do whatever I ask, even to
destroying themselves. But the passion is on their side."
The two girls were sitting in Kathleen's room, in evening dress, as they
had come from the annual club ball in Grey Town. There was a fire in the
grate, a lamp in a corner of the room was lighted and half turned up,
but it shed a very subdued light on the room.
Kathleen remembered that Desmond had done his utmost at the ball to
monopolise Sylvia Jackson, that they had disappeared for a considerable
portion of the evening. She could still see her brother's flushed face
and sparkling eyes as he returned from some dark corner with Sylvia on
his arm. She had hoped to hear an avowal of love from Mrs. Quirk's
guest.
"I fancied----," she began in a disappointed voice.
"Of course I like Desmond," said Sylvia Jackson, divining her thought.
"He is so fresh and unconventional that we all like him at home. He is
the very nicest boy I know; but I am like a mother or an elder sister to
him. Why, I am centuries older than Desmond, not in actual years, but in
knowledge of the world. I shall find him a charming girl-wife, like you
are, but I shall always expect him to remain on my staff."
"After he is married?" cried Kathleen.
"Why not? It is a recognised thing, I assure you. But I suppose we must
go to bed. What an ugly man Mr. Denis Quirk is! Really, he is the
ugliest man I ever met!"
"That is because you don't know him. Mr. Quirk's face is the worst part
of him," said Kathleen.
"I have a dread of ugly men. I select my staff with particular attention
to good looks. What queer old people those Quirks are! The old woman
should be in the kitchen; I am sure she would feel more at home there."
Now, if there was one subject upon which Kathleen felt keenly, it was
the virtues of Mrs. Quirk. She well knew that the old lady was laughed
at and derided behind her back; but no one had dared hitherto to speak
disrespectfully of her to Kathleen's face. Reddening slightly, she
answered:
"Mrs. Quirk is the best and kindest woman I know; if you really wish to
be friends with me, don't say a word against her. I shall quarrel with
anyone who does that."
"Don't quarrel with me, please! I am far too lazy for that. I always
agree with everybody, and for your sake Mr. Denis Quirk shall be
handsome, and Mrs. Quirk as refined as she is rich."
It had been Mrs. Quirk's suggestion that Sylvia Jackson should be
invited to "Layton," and Sylvia, being at the time rather hipped at
home, accepted the invitation readily. Desmond O'Connor, on hearing of
her intended visit, managed to obtain a few days' holiday, and arrive in
Grey Town in time for the club ball. There he had her undivided
attention, an impossible thing to achieve in Melbourne. But the fact did
not make her less elusive. She laughed at him when he became too tender,
allowed him a certain degree of liberty to check him when he approached
the question of love. She was always gracious and kind to him, as to
every other man; in this way she prevented her staff from deserting her;
but, while she loved to be admired, she had expressed her true
sentiments to Kathleen as they sat together after the ball.
For his part, Desmond O'Connor lived in a fever heat of passion. To hint
that Sylvia was not perfection was to make him an implacable enemy. She
so far encouraged him as to make him believe that the barrier between
them was the most fragile and easily broken affair, and that at any
moment it would be shattered by his great love. Relying on this hope,
he came and went at her bidding, filling to perfection the duties of an
obedient staff officer.
On the morning after the dance, Kathleen met Sylvia in a somewhat
hostile spirit. She resented Desmond's devotion to the girl, and she had
been hurt by the allusions to Mrs. Quirk; but Sylvia did her utmost to
dispel this feeling.
"I am sure you are cross with me," she said, "and I want you to like me.
I think you are the most charming girl I have ever met. For your sake I
intend to cultivate even Mr. Denis Quirk, and to make love to that dear
old woman."
This programme she began to carry out scrupulously. To Mrs. Quirk she
was most attentive, and on Denis she exercised her fascinations, to his
intense surprise.
"Do you walk into town?" she asked him.
"Sometimes I do. It depends on the state of my liver. When I feel in a
desperate temper and inclined to destroy the whole world, myself
included, I walk into town; at other times I ride in the car."
"Are you walking to-day?" she asked him.
"I am," he answered.
"Then I intend to walk with you, if I may," she said.
"You won't enjoy it a bit. It is all that I can do to prevent myself
from snapping my own nose off," said Denis.
"Oh, that does not matter a bit. You couldn't make me angry if you
tried. Will you come with us, Kathleen?"
"I am afraid I can't leave Mrs. Quirk. But I will meet you in town, and
we will have lunch together," said Kathleen.
"Come with us," said Denis Quirk, almost despairingly. "The mother will
get on for once without you."
"I flatter myself that Mrs. Quirk will be quite miserable without me,"
she answered, laughingly. "I have a very good opinion of myself, Mr.
Quirk; I feel that I am necessary to one person in the world."
But she watched them as they walked down the avenue, wondering what they
were laughing about, perhaps a little bit annoyed at Sylvia Jackson's
presumption in forcing herself on Denis Quirk.
Sylvia Jackson was very adaptable, where men were concerned. She rarely
found any great difficulty in securing the attention of a man, old or
young, when she desired so to do. It was her way to find out where a
man's special vanity lay. If he were so singular as to have no
particular vanity, she would discover wherein his interests were centred
and attack him through that avenue. So skilful was she, so insinuating
in her flattery and in her questions, that she rarely failed to secure
admiration as a woman of singular penetration. She had the gift of being
able to listen with apparent interest to a conversation, throwing in the
necessary question here and there. When it was necessary to talk, she
could change her tactics and make conversation for the shy, reserved
man.
They had not gone far to-day before Denis Quirk said to himself: "This
is a clever woman." He was not far wrong in this appreciation, for
Sylvia Jackson was undoubtedly clever. Before they had come to Grey Town
the two were laughing and joking with one another as though they had
known each other for years. For a woman to arrive at such intimate
relations with Denis Quirk in a short time was a triumph.
Desmond O'Connor was awaiting Sylvia outside "The Lounge," as the big
emporium in Gressley St. was called. Seeing her approach with Denis
Quirk, his brows contracted slightly, but he met them smilingly.
"You call this punctuality?" he asked.
"I call it feminine punctuality. If a woman fails to keep an appointment
by not more than half an hour, she is a model woman. I promised to meet
you at nine, and it is now barely twenty-five minutes past. Mr. Quirk,
could any woman achieve more than that?"
"My acquaintance with women is so limited that I must refuse to
arbitrate. If I were Desmond, I should swear," answered Denis.
"Have you been swearing, Desmond?" she asked.
"If so, I have forgotten it. I am now the most supremely contented man
in the world," answered Desmond.
"Well, good-bye, children!" cried Denis.
He was surprised at himself for this speech; it was a frivolity that he
had never before been guilty of. But with Sylvia Jackson there were no
restraints, nor was his remark in the slightest degree extraordinary to
her. She called out after him as he went:
"Don't forget our appointment after lunch."
"You have charmed the grizzly bear," said Desmond. "I believe you could
teach him to dance."
"I intend to do that. Before I go away he shall dance to my music, the
dear old grizzly," she answered. "I intend to drop you handsome men and
cultivate the ugly ones. Denis Quirk is charming!"
"I believe he is a good sort," said Desmond, who was above the pettiness
of deprecating a possible rival.
"I am sure that you are the very best of good sorts. Now, what are we to
do?" she answered.
"Walk along the cliffs, and see the grandest sight in Nature--the
eternal war between the ocean and the land," he answered.
And Sylvia Jackson, who was artistic and emotional to an extreme degree,
fully agreed with him when she stood on the cliffs that tower over the
sea just two miles beyond the town.
A strong wind was blowing from the south, the sun shining through a sky
dappled with fleecy broken white cloudlets. The spray sparkled in the
bright light before it broke into a rainbow of changing colours. Above
the big rollers the cliffs rose in broken perpendicular columns; there
was a constant roar in the ears as breaker after breaker hurled itself
on the rocks. Sea-birds wheeled about overhead. In the far distance the
ocean stretched out, to where a bank of clouds rested on the distant
horizon, in slopes and peaks, a perfect copy of snow-clad mountains.
"Don't stand so close to the cliffs!" cried Desmond.
She laughed at him mockingly.
"You need have no fear for me. I am an ethereal spirit, a thing of
vapour," she answered.
"I wouldn't dare stand where you are; I should be drawn down. Good
heavens!"
As he watched her she became suddenly pale and giddy. Seeing this, he
sprang and seized her in his arms, drawing her back, shaking and
trembling in every limb.
"It was just in time," she said. "Another second and I was lost.
Suddenly a giddiness came over me, as if someone seized me and was
pulling me over the cliff. Take me away from this dreadful place."
There were tears in her voice and in her eyes. She continued to sob
until they were remote from the sea. Then she suddenly asked,
laughingly:
"Do you still imagine I am in danger that you continue to hold me?"
"It was an opportunity I could not miss. Sylvia----," he said, sinking
his voice to the sentimental key.
"Now, you must stop at once. Remember our compact. Once you become too
sentimental our friendship ends. Drop your arms by your side. That will
do. Now you may smile pleasantly and talk to me like a sensible man."
It was a repulse, but it sounded rather as an invitation to continue the
siege in a less impulsive manner. So did Desmond construe what she had
said, and his spirits reflected the satisfaction which the belief
afforded him. When she joined them at lunch Kathleen found the two as
full of spirits as if they had been children. Their laughter and jests
were an offence to many who were lunching in the same room as they. To
these simple country folk the manners and style of the new school, to
which Sylvia Jackson belonged, were something as yet strange and
disagreeable. But the new school pays no attention to other people, and
rejoices in causing a sensation and outraging old-fashioned ideas.
It was immediately after luncheon that Sylvia Jackson suggested:
"We will go and visit Denis Quirk, and turn his office upside down."
"I don't think you know Quirk," replied Desmond. "He's a martinet in
'The Mercury' office."
"Oh, nonsense!" she cried. "Denis Quirk and I are like brother and
sister."
She shot a quick glance at Kathleen to note the effect of this remark,
but Kathleen showed no sign of concern.
"You will come with us, Kathleen," she continued, "and take a lesson
from me on the taming of bears. I positively love wild animals of the
human sort; they afford a natural tamer like me such a fund of
pleasure."
"Oh, yes, I will come," Kathleen replied.
She was vaguely surprised at the welcome they received. Denis Quirk was
a new personality to her; for the moment he threw away his accustomed
gravity and joined with his guests in their frolics. He led them around
the office, introducing them in turn to each employe, from Cairns right
down to Tim O'Neill, now promoted to office boy and occasional
reporter. He explained the mysteries of the printing room, and retailed
a score of newspaper anecdotes. Finally, he insisted on taking them to a
tea-room, and there ordering tea for the whole party.
When he had parted from them to return to "The Mercury," Sylvia Jackson
asked:
"What do you think of the martinet now? Can you suggest any other man in
Grey Town whom I can transform into something human?"
"Ebenezer Brown," laughed Desmond O'Connor. "Why, there he comes, the
old rascal!"
It was done in a moment. As the man came slowly up the street, Sylvia
Jackson dropped her purse in his path. It fell with a clink, and this it
probably was that caused Ebenezer Brown to stoop and pick it up.
As he handed it back to her, Sylvia Jackson gave him a most gracious
smile.
"Oh, thank you, Mr. Brown!" she said.
Ebenezer paused for a moment to ask:
"You know me, young lady?"
"You would not remember me, but I met you once, years ago. My name is
Sylvia Jackson."
"Jackson?" grunted the old man. "Don't remember the name, but I
shouldn't forget you if I had met you once."
He went along the street, chuckling in his throat in a dry, disagreeable
fashion he affected when amused.
"You took a great risk in allowing old Eb. to hold your purse. How he
resisted an inclination to pocket it I can't for the life of me
understand," said Desmond O'Connor.
"Are there no other impossible men in Grey Town?" asked Sylvia Jackson.
"I feel so exalted by my two successes that I would love to discover a
really hardened woman-hater, and convert him to more humanitarian
principles."
"Be content with what you have achieved, and devote your gifts to me,"
said Desmond.
Kathleen recognised that she was the unnecessary third, but they
protested that she must walk home with them, and managed to ignore her
presence entirely as they followed the dusty road to "Layton."