"Well," said Frere, as they went in, "you'll be out of it soon. You canget all ready to start by the end of the month, and I'll bring on Mrs.Vickers afterwards."
"What is that you say about me?" asked the sprightly Mrs. Vickers fromwithin. "You wicked men, leaving me alone all this time!"
"Mr. Frere has kindly offered to bring you and Sylvia after us in theOsprey. I shall, of course, have to take the Ladybird."
"You are most kind, Mr. Frere, really you are," says Mrs. Vickers, arecollection of her flirtation with a certain young lieutenant, sixyears before, tinging her cheeks. "It is really most considerate ofyou. Won't it be nice, Sylvia, to go with Mr. Frere and mamma to HobartTown?"
"Mr. Frere," says Sylvia, coming from out a corner of the room, "I amvery sorry for what I said just now. Will you forgive me?"
She asked the question in such a prim, old-fashioned way, standing infront of him, with her golden locks streaming over her shoulders, andher hands clasped on her black silk apron (Julia Vickers had her ownnotions about dressing her daughter), that Frere was again inclined tolaugh.
"Of course I'll forgive you, my dear," he said. "You didn't mean it, Iknow."
"Oh, but I did mean it, and that's why I'm sorry. I am a very naughtygirl sometimes, though you wouldn't think so" (this with a charmingconsciousness of her own beauty), "especially with Roman history. Idon't think the Romans were half as brave as the Carthaginians; do you,Mr. Frere?"
Maurice, somewhat staggered by this question, could only ask, "Why not?"
"Well, I don't like them half so well myself," says Sylvia, withfeminine disdain of reasons. "They always had so many soldiers, thoughthe others were so cruel when they conquered."
"Were they?" says Frere.
"Were they! Goodness gracious, yes! Didn't they cut poor Regulus'seyelids off, and roll him down hill in a barrel full of nails? What doyou call that, I should like to know?" and Mr. Frere, shaking his redhead with vast assumption of classical learning, could not but concedethat that was not kind on the part of the Carthaginians.
"You are a great scholar, Miss Sylvia," he remarked, with aconsciousness that this self-possessed girl was rapidly taking him outof his depth.
"Are you fond of reading?"
"Very."
"And what books do you read?"
"Oh, lots! 'Paul and Virginia', and 'Paradise Lost', and 'Shakespeare'sPlays', and 'Robinson Crusoe', and 'Blair's Sermons', and 'The TasmanianAlmanack', and 'The Book of Beauty', and 'Tom Jones'."
"A somewhat miscellaneous collection, I fear," said Mrs. Vickers, with asickly smile--she, like Gallio, cared for none of these things--"butour little library is necessarily limited, and I am not a great reader.John, my dear, Mr. Frere would like another glass of brandy-and-water.Oh, don't apologize; I am a soldier's wife, you know. Sylvia, my love,say good-night to Mr. Frere, and retire."
"Good-night, Miss Sylvia. Will you give me a kiss?"
"No!"
"Sylvia, don't be rude!"
"I'm not rude," cries Sylvia, indignant at the way in which her literaryconfidence had been received. "He's rude! I won't kiss you. Kiss youindeed! My goodness gracious!"
"Won't you, you little beauty?" cried Frere, suddenly leaning forward,and putting his arm round the child. "Then I must kiss you!"
To his astonishment, Sylvia, finding herself thus seized and kisseddespite herself, flushed scarlet, and, lifting up her tiny fist, struckhim on the cheek with all her force.
The blow was so sudden, and the momentary pain so sharp, that Mauricenearly slipped into his native coarseness, and rapped out an oath.
"My dear Sylvia!" cried Vickers, in tones of grave reproof.
But Frere laughed, caught both the child's hands in one of his own, andkissed her again and again, despite her struggles. "There!" he said,with a sort of triumph in his tone. "You got nothing by that, you see."
Vickers rose, with annoyance visible on his face, to draw the childaway; and as he did so, she, gasping for breath, and sobbing with rage,wrenched her wrist free, and in a storm of childish passion struck hertormentor again and again. "Man!" she cried, with flaming eyes, "Let mego! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!"
"I am very sorry for this, Frere," said Vickers, when the door wasclosed again. "I hope she did not hurt you."
"Not she! I like her spirit. Ha, ha! That's the way with women all theworld over. Nothing like showing them that they've got a master."
Vickers hastened to turn the conversation, and, amid recollections ofold days, and speculations as to future prospects, the little incidentwas forgotten. But when, an hour later, Mr. Frere traversed the passagethat led to his bedroom, he found himself confronted by a little figurewrapped in a shawl. It was his childish enemy.
"I've waited for you, Mr. Frere," said she, "to beg pardon. I ought notto have struck you; I am a wicked girl. Don't say no, because I am; andif I don't grow better I shall never go to Heaven."
Thus addressing him, the child produced a piece of paper, folded like aletter, from beneath the shawl, and handed it to him.
"What's this?" he asked. "Go back to bed, my dear; you'll catch cold."
"It's a written apology; and I sha'n't catch cold, because I've got mystockings on. If you don't accept it," she added, with an arching of thebrows, "it is not my fault. I have struck you, but I apologize. Being awoman, I can't offer you satisfaction in the usual way."
Mr. Frere stifled the impulse to laugh, and made his courteous adversarya low bow.
"I accept your apology, Miss Sylvia," said he.
"Then," returned Miss Sylvia, in a lofty manner, "there is nothing moreto be said, and I have the honour to bid you good-night, sir."
The little maiden drew her shawl close around her with immense dignity,and marched down the passage as calmly as though she had been Amadis ofGaul himself.
Frere, gaining his room choking with laughter, opened the folded paperby the light of the tallow candle, and read, in a quaint, childishhand:--
SIR,--I have struck you. I apologize in writing. Your humble servant tocommand, SYLVIA VICKERS.
"I wonder what book she took that out of?" he said. "'Pon my word shemust be a little cracked. 'Gad, it's a queer life for a child in thisplace, and no mistake."
CHAPTER VI. A LEAP IN THE DARK.
For the Term of His Natural Life Page 18