Grandma wanted to know had Beauchamp taken up permanent residence with us. If he was trifling with me, it was in rather a queer way. I had a hundred notes, most of them telling me what he was going to do with me when he married me. And he had had a long talk with Pa, who said not to worry me yet. I said I would not think of marrying until I was at least forty. Henry said no one would want to marry me then, and I said I would not want them to, so we would be quits.

He would laugh with unruffled good-humour. “You’re as good as Mrs. Henry Beauchamp already. You cooked your own fish. I’m ready to spell my name Beecham to fit in—more sensible in any case. I’m willing to wait a year.”

I said I would not marry Adonis himself, until I was twenty-one, and he said he would wait three years, but not another day. I murmured that sixty would be early enough to enter the field of bad health for women called marriage.

“What whims you have. Marriage is a sacred institution.”

“That’s superstition you have foisted on to us just to clamp us down for your own amusement.”

However, upon finding that he and his station were connected with my book I felt responsible. This put much worry into my soul and took the fun out of parrying his advances. How I longed for someone to understand and help me. Old Harris might have understood well enough to decide if I must in honour submit to this “entanglement”, but he had gone to England and had not yet sent me his address. I played for time.

Into these days of surface entertainment and underground worry Old Grayling again barged like a mad bull. He was just as luny as our most aristocratic bull, who would put himself against fence posts or toss gates on his horns and tear up anything that came in his way, even his favourite heifers. At certain seasons we had to leave everything open until he calmed down.

Old Grayling came jolting and swaying up to the side gate, the black now considerably subdued, but incited to show off, as the flash young shearer pricks up his horse when he thinks the girls are looking. Pa and Henry went out to meet him. Grayling gave the reins to Pa and roared, “I have come to see Sybylla. She avoids me. She does not answer my letters. I make her an honourable proposal of marriage. I’m prepared to give way to her in everything …”

I fled. Old Grayling caught sight of my dress as I dashed in the front gate and along the verandah to the spare bedroom. With a shout and surprising speed he leapt after me. He looked in the door, but I was under the bed, and he dived into the main house. I scrambled out the window, scattering Henry’s brushes as I went. Old Grayling caught another glimpse of me from the back door. Pa was left in bewilderment with the horse.