“You are not going to escape me like that, my fine lady. I will make
you listen to me this time or you will hear more about it,” and he
seized me angrily by the wrist.
I cannot bear the touch of any one—it is one of my idiosyncrasies. With
my disengaged hand I struck him a vigorous blow on the nose, and
wrenching myself free sprang away, saying, “How dare you lay a finger
on me! If you attempt such a thing again I’ll make short work of you.
Mark my words, or you’ll get something more than a bleeding nose next
time, I promise you.”
“You’ll hear more of this! You’ll hear more of this! You fierce, wild,
touch-me-not thing,” he roared.
“Yes; my motto with men is touch-me-not, and it is your own fault if
I’m fierce. If children attempt to act the role of a man with adult
tools, they are sure to cut themselves. Hold hard a bit, honey, till
your whiskers grow,” I retorted as I departed, taking flying leaps over
the blossom-burdened flower-beds.
At tea that night, after gazing interestedly at Mr Hawden’s nose for
some time, uncle Julius inquired, “in the name of all that’s
mysterious, what the devil have you been doing to your nose? You look
as though you had been on the spree.”
I was quaking lest he would get me into a fine scrape, but he only
muttered, “By Jove!” with great energy, and glowered menacingly across
the table at me.
After tea he requested an interview with grannie, which aroused my
curiosity greatly. I was destined to hear all about it next morning.
When breakfast was over grannie called me into her room and interviewed
me about Mr Hawden’s interview. She began without any preliminaries:
“Mr Hawden has complained of your conduct. It grieves me that any young
man should have to speak to me of the behaviour of my own
grand-daughter. He says you have been flirting with him. Sybylla, I
scarcely thought you would be so immodest and unwomanly.”
On hearing this my thoughts of Frank Hawden were the reverse of
flattering. He had persecuted me beyond measure, yet I had not deigned
to complain of him to either uncle, grannie, or auntie, as I might
reasonably have done, and have obtained immediate redress. He had been
the one to blame in the case, yet for the rebuffs he had brought upon
himself, went tattling to my grandmother.
“Is that all you have to say, grannie?”
“No. He wants to marry you, and has asked my consent. I told him it all
rested with yourself and parents. What do you say?”
“Say,” I exclaimed, “grannie, you are only joking, are you not?”
“No, my child, this is not a matter to joke about.”
“Marry that creature! A boy!” I uttered in consternation.
“He is no boy. He has attained his majority some months. He is as old
as your grandfather was when we married. In three years you will be
almost twenty, and by that time he will be in possession of his
property which is very good—in fact, he will be quite rich. If you care
for him there is nothing against him as I can see. He is healthy, has a
good character, and comes of a high family. Being a bit wild won’t
matter. Very often, after they sow their wild oats, some of those
scampy young fellows settle down and marry a nice young girl and turn
out very good husbands.”
“It is disgusting, and you ought to be downright ashamed of yourself,
grannie! A man can live a life of bestiality and then be considered a
fit husband for the youngest and purest girl! It is shameful! Frank
Hawden is not wild, he hasn’t got enough in him to be so. I hate him.
No, he hasn’t enough in him to hate. I loathe and despise him. I would
not marry him or any one like him though he were King of England. The
idea of marriage even with the best man in the world seems to me a
lowering thing,” I raged; “but with him it would be pollution—the
lowest degradation that could be heaped upon me! I will never come down
to marry any one—” here I fell a victim to a flood of excited tears.
I felt there was no good in the world, especially in men—the hateful
creatures!—and never would be while it was not expected of them, even
by rigidly pure, true Christians such as my grandmother. Grannie, dear
old grannie, thought I should marry any man who, from a financial point
of view, was a good match for me. That is where the sting came in. No,
I would never marry. I would procure some occupation in which I could
tread my life out, independent of the degradation of marriage.
“Dear me, child,” said grannie, concernedly, “there is no need to
distress yourself so. I remember you were always fearfully passionate.
When I had you with me as a tiny toddler, you would fret a whole day
about a thing an ordinary child would forget inside an hour. I will
tell Hawden to go about his business. I would not want you to consider
marriage for an instant with anyone distasteful to you. But tell me
truly, have you ever flirted with him? I will take your word, for I
thank God you have never yet told me a falsehood!”
“Grannie,” I exclaimed emphatically, “I have discouraged him all I
could. I would scorn to flirt with any man.”
“Well, well, that is all I want to hear about it. Wash your eyes, and
we will get our horses and go over to see Mrs Hickey and her baby, and
take her something good to eat.”
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.
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.