you only saw him, you would think
him the most wonderful person in the world. Some day you will meet him:
when you come back from Australia. You will like him so much. Everybody
likes him, and I... love him. I wish you could come to the theatre
to-night. He is going to be there, and I am to play Juliet. Oh! how I
shall play it! Fancy, Jim, to be in love and play Juliet! To have him
sitting there! To play for his delight! I am afraid I may frighten the
company, frighten or enthrall them. To be in love is to surpass one's
self. Poor dreadful Mr. Isaacs will be shouting 'genius' to his loafers
at the bar. He has preached me as a dogma; to-night he will announce me
as a revelation. I feel it. And it is all his, his only, Prince
Charming, my wonderful lover, my god of graces. But I am poor beside
him. Poor? What does that matter? When poverty creeps in at the door,
love flies in through the window. Our proverbs want re-writing. They
were made in winter, and it is summer now; spring-time for me, I think,
a very dance of blossoms in blue skies."

"He is a gentleman," said the lad, sullenly.

"A Prince!" she cried, musically. "What more do you want?"

"He wants to enslave you."

"I shudder at the thought of being free."

"I want you to beware of him."

"To see him is to worship him, to know him is to trust him."

"Sibyl, you are mad about him."

She laughed, and took his arm. "You dear old Jim, you talk as if you
were a hundred. Some day you will be in love yourself. Then you will
know what it is. Don't look so sulky. Surely you should be glad to think
that, though you are going away, you leave me happier than I have ever
been before. Life has been hard for us both, terribly hard and
difficult. But it will be different now. You are going to a new world,
and I have found one. Here are two chairs; let us sit down and see the
smart people go by."

They took their seats amidst a crowd of watchers. The tulip-beds across
the road flamed like throbbing rings of fire. A white dust, tremulous
cloud of orris-root it seemed, hung in the panting air. The
brightly-coloured parasols danced and dipped like monstrous butterflies.

She made her brother talk of himself, his hopes, his prospects. He spoke
slowly and with effort. They passed words to each other as players at a
game pass counters. Sibyl felt oppressed. She could not communicate her
joy. A faint smile curving that sullen mouth was all the echo she could
win. After some