“I like her affection, and she is not a troublesome guest,” said Mrs. Crasterton. “Professor Jonathan says she promises more genuis than anyone in the Colonies today, and Lady Hill says she would take Professor Jonathan’s word before anyone’s. He is a really cultured Englishman, and it is a pleasure to hear him say ninety-nine.”

“Go on, Sis!” said Gaddy good-humoredly, “He says nainty-nain.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

HI-TIDDLY-HI-TI-HI!

I was all on tip-toe for the dinner of Lady Hobnob. The Hobnobs were described by one of the English guests of the “at home” night as able “to do things rather well for the Colonies.” This meant that they had the money and EXPERIENCE to give dinners of many courses including decayed game and several kinds of wine served by the regulation number of imported flunkeys.

The whole toot was going to this dinner. We went a little early so that my host could have an additional word with me. He became noisy on finding that I was the daughter of good old Dick Melvyn, one-time Member for Gool Gool, “One of the straightest men who ever lived, but ideas ahead of the times, and no head for business.” So that was his idea of Pa’s ideals. I let him do the shouting, and soon we went in to dinner.

There was a glare of bosoms above the table and much superfluous drapery lying around the chair legs underneath, and hardly one dish out of the long list of courses that was sweet and wholesome enough for my palate so it must have been a recherché meal.

I sat on old Sir Jimmy’s left, a married woman had to have his right, but he grinned at me and talked to me most of the time. He declared that he never read a novel, but proclaimed that I was a ripping little girl and would soon settle down in marriage and leave scribbling to men or to those women who couldn’t catch a man. Such pidgin exposed his attitude towards women. His small talk was small indeed, even when he enlarged it by discussing probabilities for the Melbourne Cup. So he was easy to humour, and we got on swimmingly until he began about his wines. He was a connoisseur, and prided himself on his cellar.

“Come, come! You must drink wine at my table,” said he, with pompous geniality.

“No thank you, Sir James.”

“You must, my dear. You must.”

“No thank you,” I said firmly.

“Have you principles against drinking wine?”

“No, but I don’t like it, thank you.”

“Then you must learn to like it.”

Edmée was signalling for me to drink it, but my fighting blood was up. I had had to sink to his level about writers, which was most insulting to artistic intelligence and the rights of women. I would go no lower to please him, especially as I was feeling very resentful inside, and despising him as a swindler of public funds, who had thereby grown rich and important—with his gluttonous dinners and snifty servants!—while Pa’s honesty had resulted in deprivation and failure.