Gaddy said no more. He got books and read to me. His reading was feraboracious, but his kindness soothed like oil on a burn. As we were going in to lunch, he said that I was not to mind Mrs. Thrumnoddy, that she was a petty parasite who had had the opportunity of her life in meeting me.

Even the Harbor with the white sails on it and the ferries all gay with clothes and busking men could not rescue Sunday from being a stale day. Young Mr. Big Ears came home from church with Edmée and Mrs. Crasterton. Gaddy said that he was a teacher in the Sunday School and that was why Edmée laboured in that vineyard.

Big Ears brought two boxes of chocolates, an enormous one, which he handed to me, and a tiny one which he handed to Edmée. When we were alone I said he had made a mistake, but Edmée said no, she had asked him to give me this as she hated chocolates, but Big Ears evidently thought it would look queer to leave her out altogether.

On Monday, Mrs Crasterton took me sightseeing. We looked at the shops and she gave me a little imitation gold brooch which delighted me, as I had no other. I dragged her everywhere from the Post Office Tower to a waxworks show. She was a kind victim, as she was old and heavy. I loved it all, though I was haunted by a sense of delinquency in doing anything but the wash on Monday. Monday with me had always been sacred to the laundry and Sunday’s scraps, except when Christmas despotically fell on a Monday.

It was such a busy day that I had no time to brood on the writing woman’s pricks, and when we got home there was a parcel awaiting me—the most wonderful necklace and bracelets, heavy and old-fashioned and valuable. They were from Big Ears. He said they had been his mother’s so that he could not give them to me outright yet, but that he had heard me say that I loved bracelets and it would be a great honour to him if I wore these while in Sydney.

This looked like another kindness grace à Edmée. Big Ears had also left a note for Mrs. Crasterton. As it was an off night he hoped she would be free and that he might take her and me to a concert to hear a budding Melba. Edmée said, “By jove, I’m glad you are rescuing me from that screech owl, and I do hope Big Ears will soon come to a head so that I can get rid of him.”

Derek had a similar idea of Big Ears. When his mother said that Big Ears was interested in me because he too was a writer, Derek snorted uproariously. He was having dinner with us for the first night since my arrival.

“Dekky, don’t be naughty. He wrote charming verses in my album. He is one of our minor poets.”