The candles were lighted in the drawing-room. It was bright with gay company, but how she longed for the shade of the veranda, and Henry, sitting close, leaning against one another whilst they talked of their home beyond the Blue Mountains! Mamma was watching her closely, and there was that hideous Miss Grant watching Mamma as she was always watching let, slyly, as though she knew something, as though she had caught Mamma doing something wrong.
Instead of candles she saw tall eucalyptus trees; their barks shone bright silver in sunshine.
"Waiting is silly." Henry had said.
"We can't wait, Katharine won't wait!”
Miss Grant sidled over.
"Why, Miss Katharine, how grown-up you're looking tonight! It seems only yesterday that you were but a little baby.”
Poor Miss Grant! Homesick and angry, despising everything in the new country because of her nostalgia for the old. One imagined her coming over with her father, Major Grant, years and years ago. How dreary!
Poor Miss Grant!
"Only yesterday!" she continued.
"I remember well the day you were born.”
"Do you? That is kind of you.”
Mamma was looking anxious. Dear Mamma! How lovely she was, but strained tonight! She looked as if she were trying to catch what Miss Grant was saying.
"Kind! Oh, dear me no! The whole town was so interested..”
"In my being born? I suppose they were interested in all the babies.”
"Not all, Miss Katharine. Not all! I said you were a very special baby.”
"I'm sure I was most ordinary really.”
Wouldn't it have been fun if Henry could have come tonight. She should have been bold and gone straight to Papa and Mamma and told them. Why should she not?
"You were a rather ... shall we say a much-heralded link baby!”
What on earth was the facetious little woman talking about? She probably adored babies. People who were never likely to have any often did. She thought of herself and Henry having babies... lots of them.
She smiled.
"Ah! You are amused. We did not think it exactly amusing!”
"I'm sorry," said Katharine.
"What did you say?”
Mamma came over.
"Katharine, Lady Greymore wants to talk to you. Over there.
She is waiting for you.”
Lady Greymore said: "Hello, my dear. I must tell you that you look charming tonight... charming ... La! How beautiful it is to be young!
Your dress is most becoming. Come, tell me, was it your own choice? Or did Mamma help you? I'll whisper to you that you'll love the London gowns. They would make anything here look positively provincial!”
Katharine murmured that she was sure they would.
"And you, my dear, would be a great success in London. Of that I am certain. They would love you because you are so different. And when they heard that you had come from Botany Bay, they would be so amused!
After all, it would be something of a joke.”
"Why?" said Katharine.
"Why! Who in England has not heard of Botany Bay! But they do not expect lovely young girls to come out of the place, I assure you!”
"Doubtless they know little about it, and think they know a good deal!”
"La! What asperity! But it becomes you, child___It becomes you. Here are the men coming back. And, ah! Anthony has seen you. He is coming over, dear boy." He was very elegant; she was interested in his elegance; it was such a contrast to the manliness of the men she had known.
Papa was always well dressed, always neat; but never, never had he aspired to elegance! As for Henry, she had never seen him in anything but riding kit, and a shirt open at the front. Marcus sometimes wore gay coats, but they were Sydney made and very sombre compared with this blue satin affair from London which Sit Anthony wore so carelessly, as though there were nothing very special about it. A faint perfume followed him as he moved. His snuff box was of silver and lapis lazuli, his eyeglass a pretty thing of light tortoiseshell. But he had pleasant eyes, very blue and warm too as they rested on Katharine. She liked him better than she liked his mother.
"Ah!" said Sir Anthony.
"How I have looked forward to tonight!”
Lady Greymore moved away, leaving them together. He bent his head close to hers and he talked. He talked rather excitingly, in a way which recalled Marcus. He talked of the rich side of London life though, and it was that mingling of the rich and squalid that had made Marcus's descriptions so fascinating. He talked of gambling and balls, of the Regent growing fatter every day and indulging in amours with the grandmothers for whom he showed such preference. He gave her a picture of a spacious house in a London square, and lovely rooms that were really old as nothing in this country could be old; he showed her a picture of a gracious life, of entertaining clever people, of listening to and perhaps one day contributing to their wit. Politics and fashion, wonderful clothes which would be out of place in this settlement. It was a gay picture he showed her.
In the next room, which had been cleared for dancing, some musicians were playing Mr. Mozart's music. It was beautiful; she longed to dance; her feet tapped in time to the music.
The dancing here," he said, 'is years behind the times. In London we have the new dances ... You will be enchanted by London, Miss Katharine.”
"I do not think I shall go to London. Perhaps later ..." She smiled into a future. Henry, said Marcus, was made for prosperity; he was not content to ship his wool to London; he wanted to go there to hunt out the best markets. Henry said: "We shall go to London, you and I, and we shall see if it is as grand a place as they tell us." She pictured Henry and herself, walking hand in hand along the riverside; looking together at that frightful Newgate at whose name Mamma's face turned pale; visiting the chocolate houses; listening to the talk; riding about the town in a carriage. She had dreamed of London, but only with Henry by her side.
"Why should you not go to London?" He leaned so close that she could smell the wine on his breath; it mingled with the perfume in his clothes; she noticed his long white hands. One did not see such hands in this part of the world, idle hands, carefully manicured ... women's hands! Her own were well shaped but burned brown by the sun, and the nails were short; useful little hands they were.
"Well, because my home is here.”
"Why should your home always be here?" His hand was laid delicately on her arm, and she shivered though it was warm and caressing.
"Would you not like to go to London? I shall be returning soon. I could take you ...”
"Oh, no!. she said.
"That could not be.”
"Could it not, Katharine? It would be delightful ..." His fingers ran up her arm. It seemed sacrilege that anyone but Henry should touch her. She shrank back.
"No, no!" she said.
"You cannot mean...”
"I mean I will marry you, Katharine. I will take you back Home where you belong. You never belonged to this society of felons." Hot blood ran into her cheeks. How dared he talk of her home like this. This stupid fop! What did he know of the men who had made this country? He talked of felons ... slightingly, sneeringly. Marcus. Her own mother.
She said earnestly: "I would have you know that this country is being built; by great men. They are pioneers. They came here to make a new land; my father is one of them." She had stood up.
"Felons!" she said.
"You talk of felons. Who was it who made these felons? Your England!