Page 16 of My Brilliant Career

I finished my toilet, and in a very what’s-the-good-o’-anything mood took a last glance in the glass to say, ‘You’re ugly, you’re ugly and useless; so don’t forget that and make a fool of yourself again.’

I was in the habit of doing this; it had long ago taken the place of a morning prayer. I said this, that by familiarity it might lose a little of its sting when I heard it from other lips, but somehow it failed in efficacy.

I was late for breakfast that morning. All the others were half through the meal when I sat down.

Grannie had not come home till after twelve, but was looking as brisk as usual.

‘Come, Sybylla, I suppose this comes of sitting up too late, as I was not here to hunt you to bed. You are always very lively at night, but it’s a different tune in the morning,’ she said, when giving me the usual morning hug.

‘When I was a nipper of your age, if I didn’t turn out like greased lightning every morning, I was assisted by a little strap oil,’ remarked uncle Jay-Jay.

‘Sybylla should be excused this morning,’ interposed Mr Grey. ‘She entertained us for hours last night. Little wonder if she feels languid this morning.’

‘Entertained you! What did she do?’ queried grannie.

‘Many things. Do you know, gran, that you are robbing the world of an artist by keeping Sybylla hidden away in the bush? I must persuade you to let me take her to Sydney and have her put under the best masters in Sydney.’

‘Under masters for what?’

‘Elocution and singing.’

‘I couldn’t afford it.’

‘But I’d bear the expense myself. It would only be returning a trifle of all you have done for me.’

‘What nonsense! What would you have her do when she was taught?’

‘Go on the stage, of course. With her talent and hair she would cause quite a sensation.’

Now grannie’s notions re the stage were very tightly laced. All actors and actresses, from the lowest circus man up to the most glorious cantatrice, were people defiled in the sight of God, and utterly outside the pale of all respectability, when measured with her code of morals.

She turned energetically in her chair, and her keen eyes flashed with scorn and anger as she spoke.

‘Go on the stage! A grand-daughter of mine! Lucy’s eldest child! An actress — a vile, low, brazen hussy! Use the gifts God has given her with which to do good in showing off to a crowd of vile bad men! I would rather see her struck dead at my feet this instant! I would rather see her shear off her hair and enter a convent this very hour. Child, promise you will never be a bold bad actress.’

‘I will never be a bold bad actress, grannie,’ I said, putting great stress on the adjectives, and bringing out the actress very faintly.

‘Yes,’ she continued, calming down, ‘I’m sure you have not enough bad in you. You may be boisterous, and not behave with sufficient propriety sometimes, but I don’t think you are wicked enough to ever make an actress.’

Everard attempted to defend his case.

‘Look here, gran, that’s a very exploded old notion about the stage being a low profession. It might have been once, but it is quite the reverse nowadays. There are, of course, low people on the stage, as there are in all walks of life. I grant you that; but if people are good they can be good on the stage as well as anywhere else. On account of a little prejudice it would be a sin to rob Sybylla of the brilliant career she might have.’

‘Career!’ exclaimed his foster-mother, catching at the word. ‘Career! That is all girls think of now, instead of being good wives and mothers and attending to their homes and doing what God intended. All they think of is gadding about and being fast, and ruining themselves body and soul. And the men are as bad to encourage them,’ looking severely at Everard.

‘There is a great deal of truth in what you say, gran, I admit. You can apply it to many of our girls, I am sorry to confess, but Sybylla could not be brought under that classification. You must look at her in a different way. If —’

‘I look at her as the child of respectable people, and will not have the stage mentioned in connection with her.’ Here grannie thumped her fist down on the table, and there was silence, complete, profound. Few dared argue with Mrs Bossier.

Dear old lady, she was never angry long, and in a minute or two she proceeded with her breakfast, saying quite pleasantly:

‘Never mention such a subject to me again; but I’ll tell you what you can do. Next autumn, some time in March or April, when the fruit-preserving and jam-making are done with, Helen can take the child to Sydney for a month or so, and you can show them round. It will be a great treat for Sybylla as she has never been in Sydney.’

‘That’s right, let’s strike a bargain on that, gran,’ said Everard.

‘Yes; it’s a bargain, if I hear no more about the stage. God intends His creatures for a better life than that.’

After breakfast I was left to entertain Everard for some while. We had a fine time. He was a perfect gentleman and a clever conversationalist.