Mrs. Crasterton disappeared to telephone. Gad played on the piano and showed me books and things, but my heart had gone out for the night with Edmée and Derek. If Derek would give me a few dancing lessons I was sure I could learn in an hour, but it was not natural for such an attractive young man to repair the social deficiencies of a little bush-whacker. The ridicule in his remark about the infant prodigy showed me my place. I longed for just one evening dress. Edmée’s wet-night gown would have satisfied me, but Pa hadn’t a penny to buy me one and I did not wish to be beholden to Mrs. Crasterton. I did not sleep on going to bed. The day had been packed with experiences, the lights and voices of the Harbor were so alluring, and I thought much of a ball room with an orchestra playing gay waltzes and Edmée and Derek the “cynosure of all eyes”.

I was up early. It seemed hours before breakfast. Geebung Villa had terraces to the water’s edge, and they were rich with daphne and camellia bushes. The sun came up through the Heads and stole its way to the Quay, far over the bay. Each of the tiny waves turned to flame, and as the sun rose higher it left pearly tracks across the water. A month would not be long enough to imbibe such beauty, and I did not mind a bit that I had no dresses.

Gaddy found me and said that breakfast was nearly ready. He blew his nose like a trumpet and turned about and rattled both hands in his trousers’ pockets, and looked as if he would displace his eyes, and then blurted out, “See here, my sister is having a lot of people tonight. Don’t you let ’em fuss you. Don’t you listen to anything they tell you. You are better than the whole lot of ’em—just as you are.”

I was pleased about the people. I longed for people who would be interested in things that I was interested in, and people living in such circumstances and surroundings must surely be they. I did not expect them to worry me, and I certainly intended to listen to all they said. Why should Gaddy give such a queer warning?

Derek and Edmée were both absent from breakfast. Mrs. Crasterton went up to Derek’s room while Gad telephoned for a cab, and there was a fuss with a cup of coffee in the hall as Derek later bolted for the cab to race to his office. It was entirely different behaviour from that of young men in the bush—seemed a little infra dig for masculinity.

I had established such relations with Edmée that I went to her room while she made her toilette. I was impatient to hear of the ball. She and Derek had been the cynosure, just as I thought. She was going to lunch with some girl friends at Potts Point, and her dress congested me with superlatives. It was filmy stuff such as worn by the heroines in the Penny Post, over a bright colour that shimmered, and a lace petticoat. She lifted the fluffy skirts around her ankles in open-work stockings, and she had high-heeled shoes. She had a perfect figure as well as a beautiful face. Her waist was small and her bosom full. She had a spreading picture hat of pleated tulle and feathers, and what she called a brolly to match. I revelled in her. She said she had a hard bore of a day ahead of her—lunch and two afternoon teas. There was a new man who was mad about her, of whom I panted to hear, but she departed as soon as she was dressed.