Chapter 5

“Mother, Mother, I am so happy!” whispered the girl, burying her face in the lap of the faded, tired-looking woman who, with back turned to the shrill intrusive light, was sitting in the one arm-chair that their dingy sitting-room contained. “I am so happy!” she repeated, “and you must be happy, too!”

“Mother, Mother, I am so happy!” whispered the girl, burying her face in the lap of the worn, tired-looking woman. The woman sat in the only armchair in their shabby sitting room, with her back to the harsh, intrusive light. “I am so happy!” the girl repeated, “and you must be happy, too!”

Mrs. Vane winced and put her thin, bismuth-whitened hands on her daughter’s head. “Happy!” she echoed, “I am only happy, Sibyl, when I see you act. You must not think of anything but your acting. Mr. Isaacs has been very good to us, and we owe him money.”

Mrs. Vane flinched and placed her thin hands, whitened with bismuth powder, on her daughter’s head. “Happy!” she repeated. “I am only happy, Sibyl, when I see you act. You must not think about anything but your acting. Mr. Isaacs has been very good to us, and we owe him money.”

The girl looked up and pouted. “Money, Mother?” she cried, “what does money matter? Love is more than money.”

The girl looked up and pouted. “Money, Mother?” she cried. “What does money matter? Love is worth more than money.”

“Mr. Isaacs has advanced us fifty pounds to pay off our debts and to get a proper outfit for James. You must not forget that, Sibyl. Fifty pounds is a very large sum. Mr. Isaacs has been most considerate.”

“Mr. Isaacs has lent us fifty pounds to pay off our debts and buy James proper clothes. You must not forget that, Sibyl. Fifty pounds is a very large sum. Mr. Isaacs has been very considerate.”

“He is not a gentleman, Mother, and I hate the way he talks to me,” said the girl, rising to her feet and going over to the window.

“He is not a gentleman, Mother, and I hate the way he talks to me,” said the girl. She stood up and walked over to the window.

“I don’t know how we could manage without him,” answered the elder woman querulously.

“I don’t know how we could manage without him,” the older woman replied, complaining.

Sibyl Vane tossed her head and laughed. “We don’t want him any more, Mother. Prince Charming rules life for us now.” Then she paused. A rose shook in her blood and shadowed her cheeks. Quick breath parted the petals of her lips. They trembled. Some southern wind of passion swept over her and stirred the dainty folds of her dress. “I love him,” she said simply.

Sibyl Vane tossed her head and laughed. “We don’t need him anymore, Mother. Prince Charming rules our lives now.” Then she paused. A rose seemed to bloom in her blood, coloring her cheeks. She breathed quickly, parting her lips like petals. Her lips trembled. A southern wind of passion seemed to sweep over her, stirring the delicate folds of her dress. “I love him,” she said simply.

“Foolish child! foolish child!” was the parrot-phrase flung in answer. The waving of crooked, false-jewelled fingers gave grotesqueness to the words.

“Foolish child! foolish child!” came the parrot-like reply. The waving of crooked fingers adorned with fake jewels made the words grotesque.

The girl laughed again. The joy of a caged bird was in her voice. Her eyes caught the melody and echoed it in radiance, then closed for a moment, as though to hide their secret. When they opened, the mist of a dream had passed across them.

The girl laughed again. Her voice held the joy of a caged bird. Her eyes caught the melody and echoed it with a bright glow. Then they closed for a moment, as if to hide their secret. When they opened, they were misty with a dream.

Thin-lipped wisdom spoke at her from the worn chair, hinted at prudence, quoted from that book of cowardice whose author apes the name of common sense. She did not listen. She was free in her prison of passion. Her prince, Prince Charming, was with her. She had called on memory to remake him. She had sent her soul to search for him, and it had brought him back. His kiss burned again upon her mouth. Her eyelids were warm with his breath.

Thin-lipped wisdom spoke to her from the worn chair. It urged caution and quoted from that book of cowardice whose author pretends to be common sense. She did not listen. She was free in her prison of passion. Her prince, Prince Charming, was with her. She had called on her memory to bring him to life again. She had sent her soul to search for him, and it had brought him back. His kiss burned on her lips again. His breath warmed her eyelids.

Then wisdom altered its method and spoke of espial and discovery. This young man might be rich. If so, marriage should be thought of. Against the shell of her ear broke the waves of worldly cunning. The arrows of craft shot by her. She saw the thin lips moving, and smiled.

Then wisdom changed its approach and spoke of spying and finding out more. This young man might be rich. If so, marriage should be considered. Waves of worldly cunning broke against her ear. Arrows of cunning flew past her. She saw the thin lips moving and smiled.

Suddenly she felt the need to speak. The wordy silence troubled her. “Mother, Mother,” she cried, “why does he love me so much? I know why I love him. I love him because he is like what love himself should be. But what does he see in me? I am not worthy of him. And yet—why, I cannot tell—though I feel so much beneath him, I don’t feel humble. I feel proud, terribly proud. Mother, did you love my father as I love Prince Charming?”

Suddenly, she felt she had to speak. The silence seemed full of unspoken words, and it troubled her. “Mother, Mother,” she cried, “why does he love me so much? I know why I love him. I love him because he is what love himself should be. But what does he see in me? I am not worthy of him. And yet, I don’t know why, but though I feel so far beneath him, I don’t feel humble. I feel proud, terribly proud. Mother, did you love my father as I love Prince Charming?”

The elder woman grew pale beneath the coarse powder that daubed her cheeks, and her dry lips twitched with a spasm of pain. Sybil rushed to her, flung her arms round her neck, and kissed her. “Forgive me, Mother. I know it pains you to talk about our father. But it only pains you because you loved him so much. Don’t look so sad. I am as happy to-day as you were twenty years ago. Ah! let me be happy for ever!”

The older woman turned pale beneath the thick powder smeared on her cheeks. Her dry lips twitched with pain. Sybil rushed to her, threw her arms around her neck, and kissed her. “Forgive me, Mother. I know it hurts you to talk about our father. But it only hurts because you loved him so much. Don’t look so sad. I am as happy today as you were twenty years ago. Oh, let me be happy forever!”

“My child, you are far too young to think of falling in love. Besides, what do you know of this young man? You don’t even know his name. The whole thing is most inconvenient, and really, when James is going away to Australia, and I have so much to think of, I must say that you should have shown more consideration. However, as I said before, if he is rich ...”

“My child, you’re far too young to think about falling in love. Besides, what do you know about this young man? You don’t even know his name. The whole thing is very inconvenient. With James leaving for Australia, I have so much to think about. I must say, you should have been more considerate. Still, as I said before, if he’s rich ...”

“Ah! Mother, Mother, let me be happy!”

“Oh, Mother, Mother, let me be happy!”

Mrs. Vane glanced at her, and with one of those false theatrical gestures that so often become a mode of second nature to a stage-player, clasped her in her arms. At this moment, the door opened and a young lad with rough brown hair came into the room. He was thick-set of figure, and his hands and feet were large and somewhat clumsy in movement. He was not so finely bred as his sister. One would hardly have guessed the close relationship that existed between them. Mrs. Vane fixed her eyes on him and intensified her smile. She mentally elevated her son to the dignity of an audience. She felt sure that the tableau was interesting.

Mrs. Vane glanced at her and clasped her in her arms with a false, theatrical gesture. Such gestures often become second nature to actors. Just then, the door opened, and a young boy with rough brown hair entered the room. He was stocky, and his large hands and feet moved somewhat clumsily. He was not as refined as his sister. One would hardly have guessed how closely they were related. Mrs. Vane fixed her eyes on him and smiled more broadly. In her mind, she raised her son to the status of an audience. She felt sure that the scene was interesting.

“You might keep some of your kisses for me, Sibyl, I think,” said the lad with a good-natured grumble.

“You could save some of your kisses for me, Sibyl, I think,” the boy said with a good-natured grumble.

“Ah! but you don’t like being kissed, Jim,” she cried. “You are a dreadful old bear.” And she ran across the room and hugged him.

“Oh, but you don’t like being kissed, Jim,” she cried. “You’re a terrible old bear.” She ran across the room and hugged him.

James Vane looked into his sister’s face with tenderness. “I want you to come out with me for a walk, Sibyl. I don’t suppose I shall ever see this horrid London again. I am sure I don’t want to.”

James Vane looked at his sister tenderly. “I want you to come for a walk with me, Sibyl. I don’t suppose I’ll ever see this horrible London again. I certainly don’t want to.”

“My son, don’t say such dreadful things,” murmured Mrs. Vane, taking up a tawdry theatrical dress, with a sigh, and beginning to patch it. She felt a little disappointed that he had not joined the group. It would have increased the theatrical picturesqueness of the situation.

“My son, don’t say such dreadful things,” Mrs. Vane murmured. With a sigh, she picked up a cheap theatrical costume and began to mend it. She was a little disappointed that he had not joined the group. His presence would have made the scene more theatrically picturesque.

“Why not, Mother? I mean it.”

“Why not, Mother? I mean it.”

“You pain me, my son. I trust you will return from Australia in a position of affluence. I believe there is no society of any kind in the Colonies—nothing that I would call society—so when you have made your fortune, you must come back and assert yourself in London.”

“You upset me, my son. I hope you will return from Australia wealthy. I believe there is no society of any kind in the Colonies, at least none I would call society. So when you have made your fortune, you must come back and establish yourself in London.”

“Society!” muttered the lad. “I don’t want to know anything about that. I should like to make some money to take you and Sibyl off the stage. I hate it.”

“Society!” the young man muttered. “I don’t want to know anything about that. I’d like to make enough money to get you and Sibyl off the stage. I hate it.”

“Oh, Jim!” said Sibyl, laughing, “how unkind of you! But are you really going for a walk with me? That will be nice! I was afraid you were going to say good-bye to some of your friends—to Tom Hardy, who gave you that hideous pipe, or Ned Langton, who makes fun of you for smoking it. It is very sweet of you to let me have your last afternoon. Where shall we go? Let us go to the park.”

“Oh, Jim!” said Sibyl, laughing, “how unkind of you! But are you really going for a walk with me? That will be nice! I was afraid you were going to say goodbye to some of your friends. I thought you might visit Tom Hardy, who gave you that ugly pipe. Or Ned Langton, who makes fun of you for smoking it. It’s very sweet of you to spend your last afternoon with me. Where should we go? Let’s go to the park.”

“I am too shabby,” he answered, frowning. “Only swell people go to the park.”

“I look too shabby,” he answered, frowning. “Only wealthy people go to the park.”

“Nonsense, Jim,” she whispered, stroking the sleeve of his coat.

“That's nonsense, Jim,” she whispered, stroking the sleeve of his coat.

He hesitated for a moment. “Very well,” he said at last, “but don’t be too long dressing.” She danced out of the door. One could hear her singing as she ran upstairs. Her little feet pattered overhead.

He hesitated for a moment. “All right,” he said at last, “but don’t take too long to get dressed.” She danced out the door. You could hear her singing as she ran upstairs. Her little feet pattered overhead.

He walked up and down the room two or three times. Then he turned to the still figure in the chair. “Mother, are my things ready?” he asked.

He walked back and forth across the room two or three times. Then he turned to the motionless figure in the chair. “Mother, are my things ready?” he asked.

“Quite ready, James,” she answered, keeping her eyes on her work. For some months past she had felt ill at ease when she was alone with this rough stern son of hers. Her shallow secret nature was troubled when their eyes met. She used to wonder if he suspected anything. The silence, for he made no other observation, became intolerable to her. She began to complain. Women defend themselves by attacking, just as they attack by sudden and strange surrenders. “I hope you will be contented, James, with your sea-faring life,” she said. “You must remember that it is your own choice. You might have entered a solicitor’s office. Solicitors are a very respectable class, and in the country often dine with the best families.”

“Quite ready, James,” she answered, keeping her eyes on her work. For months, she had felt uneasy when alone with her rough, stern son. When their eyes met, her shallow, secretive nature was troubled. She used to wonder if he suspected anything. He said nothing else, and the silence became unbearable to her. She began to complain. Women defend themselves by attacking, just as they attack through sudden, strange acts of surrender. “I hope you will be happy with your life at sea, James,” she said. “You must remember that you chose it yourself. You could have worked in a solicitor’s office. Solicitors are a very respectable class, and in the country they often dine with the best families.”

“I hate offices, and I hate clerks,” he replied. “But you are quite right. I have chosen my own life. All I say is, watch over Sibyl. Don’t let her come to any harm. Mother, you must watch over her.”

“I hate offices, and I hate clerks,” he replied. “But you’re right. I’ve chosen my own life. All I’m saying is, look after Sibyl. Don’t let her come to any harm. Mother, you must look after her.”

“James, you really talk very strangely. Of course I watch over Sibyl.”

“James, you really talk strangely. Of course I look after Sibyl.”

“I hear a gentleman comes every night to the theatre and goes behind to talk to her. Is that right? What about that?”

“I hear a man comes to the theater every night and goes backstage to talk to her. Is that true? What’s going on?”

“You are speaking about things you don’t understand, James. In the profession we are accustomed to receive a great deal of most gratifying attention. I myself used to receive many bouquets at one time. That was when acting was really understood. As for Sibyl, I do not know at present whether her attachment is serious or not. But there is no doubt that the young man in question is a perfect gentleman. He is always most polite to me. Besides, he has the appearance of being rich, and the flowers he sends are lovely.”

“You’re talking about things you don’t understand, James. In our profession, we’re used to receiving a great deal of very welcome attention. I used to receive many bouquets myself. That was when people really understood acting. As for Sibyl, I don’t know yet whether her feelings are serious. But there’s no doubt that this young man is a perfect gentleman. He’s always very polite to me. Besides, he looks rich, and the flowers he sends are lovely.”

“You don’t know his name, though,” said the lad harshly.

“You don’t know his name, though,” the boy said harshly.

“No,” answered his mother with a placid expression in her face. “He has not yet revealed his real name. I think it is quite romantic of him. He is probably a member of the aristocracy.”

“No,” his mother answered calmly. “He hasn't revealed his real name yet. I think that's quite romantic of him. He's probably a member of the aristocracy.”

James Vane bit his lip. “Watch over Sibyl, Mother,” he cried, “watch over her.”

James Vane bit his lip. “Look after Sibyl, Mother,” he cried, “look after her.”

“My son, you distress me very much. Sibyl is always under my special care. Of course, if this gentleman is wealthy, there is no reason why she should not contract an alliance with him. I trust he is one of the aristocracy. He has all the appearance of it, I must say. It might be a most brilliant marriage for Sibyl. They would make a charming couple. His good looks are really quite remarkable; everybody notices them.”

“My son, you upset me very much. I always take special care of Sibyl. Of course, if this gentleman is wealthy, there is no reason she should not marry him. I hope he is an aristocrat. I must say, he certainly looks like one. It could be an excellent marriage for Sibyl. They would make a charming couple. He is remarkably handsome, and everybody notices it.”

The lad muttered something to himself and drummed on the window-pane with his coarse fingers. He had just turned round to say something when the door opened and Sibyl ran in.

The boy muttered to himself and drummed on the windowpane with his rough fingers. He had just turned to speak when the door opened and Sibyl ran in.

“How serious you both are!” she cried. “What is the matter?”

“You both look so serious!” she cried. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he answered. “I suppose one must be serious sometimes. Good-bye, Mother; I will have my dinner at five o’clock. Everything is packed, except my shirts, so you need not trouble.”

“Nothing,” he answered. “I suppose you have to be serious sometimes. Goodbye, Mother. I’ll have dinner at five. Everything is packed except my shirts, so you don’t need to bother.”

“Good-bye, my son,” she answered with a bow of strained stateliness.

“Goodbye, my son,” she replied, bowing with forced dignity.

She was extremely annoyed at the tone he had adopted with her, and there was something in his look that had made her feel afraid.

She was extremely annoyed by the tone he used with her. And something in his look had frightened her.

“Kiss me, Mother,” said the girl. Her flowerlike lips touched the withered cheek and warmed its frost.

“Kiss me, Mother,” the girl said. Her flowerlike lips touched her mother’s wrinkled cheek, warming its chill.

“My child! my child!” cried Mrs. Vane, looking up to the ceiling in search of an imaginary gallery.

“My child! My child!” cried Mrs. Vane, looking up at the ceiling as if searching for an imaginary audience.

“Come, Sibyl,” said her brother impatiently. He hated his mother’s affectations.

“Come on, Sibyl,” said her brother impatiently. He hated his mother’s pretentious behavior.

They went out into the flickering, wind-blown sunlight and strolled down the dreary Euston Road. The passersby glanced in wonder at the sullen heavy youth who, in coarse, ill-fitting clothes, was in the company of such a graceful, refined-looking girl. He was like a common gardener walking with a rose.

They went out into the flickering, wind-blown sunlight and strolled down the dreary Euston Road. Passersby stared in surprise at the sullen, heavy young man in rough, ill-fitting clothes. He was walking with such a graceful, refined-looking girl. He was like an ordinary gardener walking with a rose.

Jim frowned from time to time when he caught the inquisitive glance of some stranger. He had that dislike of being stared at, which comes on geniuses late in life and never leaves the commonplace. Sibyl, however, was quite unconscious of the effect she was producing. Her love was trembling in laughter on her lips. She was thinking of Prince Charming, and, that she might think of him all the more, she did not talk of him, but prattled on about the ship in which Jim was going to sail, about the gold he was certain to find, about the wonderful heiress whose life he was to save from the wicked, red-shirted bushrangers. For he was not to remain a sailor, or a supercargo, or whatever he was going to be. Oh, no! A sailor’s existence was dreadful. Fancy being cooped up in a horrid ship, with the hoarse, hump-backed waves trying to get in, and a black wind blowing the masts down and tearing the sails into long screaming ribands! He was to leave the vessel at Melbourne, bid a polite good-bye to the captain, and go off at once to the gold-fields. Before a week was over he was to come across a large nugget of pure gold, the largest nugget that had ever been discovered, and bring it down to the coast in a waggon guarded by six mounted policemen. The bushrangers were to attack them three times, and be defeated with immense slaughter. Or, no. He was not to go to the gold-fields at all. They were horrid places, where men got intoxicated, and shot each other in bar-rooms, and used bad language. He was to be a nice sheep-farmer, and one evening, as he was riding home, he was to see the beautiful heiress being carried off by a robber on a black horse, and give chase, and rescue her. Of course, she would fall in love with him, and he with her, and they would get married, and come home, and live in an immense house in London. Yes, there were delightful things in store for him. But he must be very good, and not lose his temper, or spend his money foolishly. She was only a year older than he was, but she knew so much more of life. He must be sure, also, to write to her by every mail, and to say his prayers each night before he went to sleep. God was very good, and would watch over him. She would pray for him, too, and in a few years he would come back quite rich and happy.

Jim frowned from time to time when he caught a stranger looking at him curiously. He disliked being stared at. Geniuses develop that dislike late in life, but ordinary people never lose it. Sibyl, however, was completely unaware of the effect she was having. Her love trembled in the laughter on her lips. She was thinking of Prince Charming, and she did not talk about him, so she could think of him even more. Instead, she chattered about the ship Jim would sail on and the gold he was sure to find. She talked about the wonderful heiress whose life he would save from the wicked bushrangers in red shirts. He was not going to remain a sailor, or a cargo officer, or whatever he was going to be. Oh, no! A sailor’s life was dreadful. Imagine being shut up in a horrible ship, with rough, humped waves trying to get in. Imagine a black wind blowing down the masts and tearing the sails into long, screaming ribbons! He was to leave the ship at Melbourne, politely say goodbye to the captain, and go straight to the goldfields. Before a week had passed, he would find a large nugget of pure gold, the largest ever discovered. He would bring it to the coast in a wagon guarded by six mounted police officers. The bushrangers would attack them three times and be defeated with terrible loss of life. Or, no. He was not to go to the goldfields at all. They were horrible places, where men got drunk, shot each other in bars, and used bad language. He was to be a nice sheep farmer. One evening, as he rode home, he would see a robber carrying off the beautiful heiress on a black horse. He would chase the robber and rescue her. Of course, she would fall in love with him, and he with her. They would get married, come home, and live in an enormous house in London. Yes, delightful things lay ahead for him. But he must be very good and not lose his temper or spend his money foolishly. She was only a year older than he was, but she knew so much more about life. He must also be sure to write to her with every mail and say his prayers each night before bed. God was very good and would watch over him. She would pray for him too, and in a few years he would come back quite rich and happy.

The lad listened sulkily to her and made no answer. He was heart-sick at leaving home.

The boy listened to her sulkily but said nothing. He was heartbroken about leaving home.

Yet it was not this alone that made him gloomy and morose. Inexperienced though he was, he had still a strong sense of the danger of Sibyl’s position. This young dandy who was making love to her could mean her no good. He was a gentleman, and he hated him for that, hated him through some curious race-instinct for which he could not account, and which for that reason was all the more dominant within him. He was conscious also of the shallowness and vanity of his mother’s nature, and in that saw infinite peril for Sibyl and Sibyl’s happiness. Children begin by loving their parents; as they grow older they judge them; sometimes they forgive them.

Yet this was not the only reason he felt gloomy and bad-tempered. Though inexperienced, he had a strong sense of the danger Sibyl was in. This young dandy who was courting her could mean her no good. He was a gentleman, and he hated him for it. His hatred came from a strange instinct rooted in race, which he could not explain. Because he could not explain it, the instinct had an even stronger hold on him. He also knew how shallow and vain his mother was. He saw in her nature endless danger for Sibyl and her happiness. Children begin by loving their parents. As they grow older, they judge them. Sometimes they forgive them.

His mother! He had something on his mind to ask of her, something that he had brooded on for many months of silence. A chance phrase that he had heard at the theatre, a whispered sneer that had reached his ears one night as he waited at the stage-door, had set loose a train of horrible thoughts. He remembered it as if it had been the lash of a hunting-crop across his face. His brows knit together into a wedge-like furrow, and with a twitch of pain he bit his underlip.

His mother! He had something on his mind that he wanted to ask her. He had thought about it in silence for many months. A remark he had heard at the theatre had set off a series of horrible thoughts. It had been a whispered sneer that reached his ears one night as he waited at the stage door. He remembered it as if a riding crop had struck him across the face. His eyebrows drew together in a deep, wedge-shaped furrow. He winced and bit his lower lip.

“You are not listening to a word I am saying, Jim,” cried Sibyl, “and I am making the most delightful plans for your future. Do say something.”

“You’re not listening to a word I’m saying, Jim,” cried Sibyl. “And I’m making such wonderful plans for your future. Please say something.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Oh! that you will be a good boy and not forget us,” she answered, smiling at him.

“Oh! That you’ll be a good boy and not forget us,” she said, smiling at him.

He shrugged his shoulders. “You are more likely to forget me than I am to forget you, Sibyl.”

He shrugged. “You’re more likely to forget me than I am to forget you, Sibyl.”

She flushed. “What do you mean, Jim?” she asked.

She blushed. “What do you mean, Jim?” she asked.

“You have a new friend, I hear. Who is he? Why have you not told me about him? He means you no good.”

“I hear you have a new friend. Who is he? Why haven't you told me about him? He doesn't wish you well.”

“Stop, Jim!” she exclaimed. “You must not say anything against him. I love him.”

“Stop, Jim!” she exclaimed. “You must not say anything against him. I love him.”

“Why, you don’t even know his name,” answered the lad. “Who is he? I have a right to know.”

“But you don’t even know his name,” the young man replied. “Who is he? I have a right to know.”

“He is called Prince Charming. Don’t you like the name? Oh! you silly boy! you should never forget it. If 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 rewriting. 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 called Prince Charming. Don’t you like the name? Oh, you silly boy! You must never forget it. If you saw him, you would think he was the most wonderful person in the world. Someday 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 theater tonight. He is going to be there, and I am playing Juliet. Oh, how I will play her! Just imagine, Jim, being in love and playing Juliet! Having him sitting there! Performing to delight him! I’m afraid I may frighten the company, frighten or captivate them. Being in love makes you surpass yourself. Poor, dreadful Mr. Isaacs will be shouting ‘genius’ to his loafers at the bar. He has presented me as a dogma. Tonight he will announce me as a revelation. I can feel it. And it is all his, his alone, Prince Charming, my wonderful lover, my god of graces. But I am poor compared with him. Poor? What does that matter? When poverty creeps in through the door, love flies in through the window. Our proverbs need rewriting. They were made in winter, and now it is summer. For me, I think it is spring, a dance of blossoms against blue skies.”

“He is a gentleman,” said the lad sullenly.

“He is a gentleman,” the boy said sullenly.

“A prince!” she cried musically. “What more do you want?”

“A prince!” she cried in a musical voice. “What more do you want?”

“He wants to enslave you.”

“He wants to enslave you.”

“I shudder at the thought of being free.”

“I tremble at the thought of being free.”

“I want you to beware of him.”

“I want you to be careful of him.”

“To see him is to worship him; to know him is to trust him.”

“To see him is to worship him. To know him is to trust him.”

“Sibyl, you are mad about him.”

“Sibyl, you are crazy 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.”

She laughed and took his arm. “Dear old Jim, you talk as if you were a hundred. Someday you will fall in love yourself. Then you will know what being in love is like. Don’t look so sulky. Surely you should be glad that, though you are going away, you leave me happier than I have ever been. 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’s sit down and watch the fashionable 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.

They sat down among a crowd of onlookers. Across the road, the tulip beds blazed like pulsing rings of fire. White dust hung in the breathless air. It seemed like a trembling cloud of orris-root powder. The brightly colored parasols danced and dipped like giant 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 time she became silent. Suddenly she caught a glimpse of golden hair and laughing lips, and in an open carriage with two ladies Dorian Gray drove past.

She got her brother to talk about himself, his hopes, and his prospects. He spoke slowly and with effort. They exchanged words like players passing counters in a game. Sibyl felt weighed down. She could not share her joy. All she could get from him was a faint smile on his sullen mouth. After a while, she fell silent. Suddenly, she glimpsed golden hair and laughing lips. Dorian Gray drove past in an open carriage with two ladies.

She started to her feet. “There he is!” she cried.

She jumped to her feet. “There he is!” she cried.

“Who?” said Jim Vane.

“Who?” said Jim Vane.

“Prince Charming,” she answered, looking after the victoria.

“Prince Charming,” she answered, watching the carriage leave.

He jumped up and seized her roughly by the arm. “Show him to me. Which is he? Point him out. I must see him!” he exclaimed; but at that moment the Duke of Berwick’s four-in-hand came between, and when it had left the space clear, the carriage had swept out of the park.

He jumped up and grabbed her arm roughly. “Show him to me. Which one is he? Point him out. I must see him!” he exclaimed. But at that moment, the Duke of Berwick’s four-horse carriage passed between them. When it had passed, the other carriage had already left the park.

“He is gone,” murmured Sibyl sadly. “I wish you had seen him.”

“He’s gone,” Sibyl murmured sadly. “I wish you had seen him.”

“I wish I had, for as sure as there is a God in heaven, if he ever does you any wrong, I shall kill him.”

“I wish I had. Because as surely as there is a God in heaven, if he ever hurts you, I’ll kill him.”

She looked at him in horror. He repeated his words. They cut the air like a dagger. The people round began to gape. A lady standing close to her tittered.

She looked at him in horror. He repeated his words. They cut the air like a dagger. The people around them began to stare. A woman standing close to her giggled.

“Come away, Jim; come away,” she whispered. He followed her doggedly as she passed through the crowd. He felt glad at what he had said.

“Come on, Jim, come on,” she whispered. He followed her stubbornly as she made her way through the crowd. He was glad about what he had said.

When they reached the Achilles Statue, she turned round. There was pity in her eyes that became laughter on her lips. She shook her head at him. “You are foolish, Jim, utterly foolish; a bad-tempered boy, that is all. How can you say such horrible things? You don’t know what you are talking about. You are simply jealous and unkind. Ah! I wish you would fall in love. Love makes people good, and what you said was wicked.”

When they reached the Achilles Statue, she turned around. There was pity in her eyes, but laughter on her lips. She shook her head at him. “You’re foolish, Jim, completely foolish. You’re just a bad-tempered boy, that’s all. How can you say such horrible things? You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re just jealous and unkind. Oh, I wish you would fall in love. Love makes people good, and what you said was wicked.”

“I am sixteen,” he answered, “and I know what I am about. Mother is no help to you. She doesn’t understand how to look after you. I wish now that I was not going to Australia at all. I have a great mind to chuck the whole thing up. I would, if my articles hadn’t been signed.”

“I’m sixteen,” he replied, “and I know what I’m doing. Mother is no help to you. She doesn’t know how to look after you. I wish I weren’t going to Australia at all. I’m very tempted to give up the whole thing. I would, if I hadn’t signed the contract.”

“Oh, don’t be so serious, Jim. You are like one of the heroes of those silly melodramas Mother used to be so fond of acting in. I am not going to quarrel with you. I have seen him, and oh! to see him is perfect happiness. We won’t quarrel. I know you would never harm any one I love, would you?”

“Oh, don’t be so serious, Jim. You’re like one of the heroes in those silly melodramas Mother used to love acting in. I’m not going to argue with you. I’ve seen him, and oh! Just seeing him makes me perfectly happy. We won’t argue. I know you would never hurt anyone I love, would you?”

“Not as long as you love him, I suppose,” was the sullen answer.

“Not as long as you love him, I suppose,” came the sullen reply.

“I shall love him for ever!” she cried.

“I’ll love him forever!” she cried.

“And he?”

“And what about him?”

“For ever, too!”

“Forever, too!”

“He had better.”

“He'd better.”

She shrank from him. Then she laughed and put her hand on his arm. He was merely a boy.

She pulled away from him. Then she laughed and put her hand on his arm. He was only a boy.

At the Marble Arch they hailed an omnibus, which left them close to their shabby home in the Euston Road. It was after five o’clock, and Sibyl had to lie down for a couple of hours before acting. Jim insisted that she should do so. He said that he would sooner part with her when their mother was not present. She would be sure to make a scene, and he detested scenes of every kind.

At Marble Arch, they caught a bus, which dropped them off near their shabby home on Euston Road. It was after five o’clock, and Sibyl had to rest for a couple of hours before acting. Jim insisted that she rest. He said he would rather say goodbye to her when their mother was not there. Their mother would be sure to make a scene, and he hated scenes of every kind.

In Sybil’s own room they parted. There was jealousy in the lad’s heart, and a fierce murderous hatred of the stranger who, as it seemed to him, had come between them. Yet, when her arms were flung round his neck, and her fingers strayed through his hair, he softened and kissed her with real affection. There were tears in his eyes as he went downstairs.

They said goodbye in Sybil’s room. The young man was jealous and felt a fierce, murderous hatred for the stranger. It seemed to him that the stranger had come between them. Yet when Sybil threw her arms around his neck and ran her fingers through his hair, he softened. He kissed her with real affection. His eyes filled with tears as he went downstairs.

His mother was waiting for him below. She grumbled at his unpunctuality, as he entered. He made no answer, but sat down to his meagre meal. The flies buzzed round the table and crawled over the stained cloth. Through the rumble of omnibuses, and the clatter of street-cabs, he could hear the droning voice devouring each minute that was left to him.

His mother was waiting for him downstairs. When he came in, she complained that he was late. He said nothing and sat down to his meager meal. Flies buzzed around the table and crawled over the stained cloth. Through the rumble of buses and the clatter of street cabs, he could hear the droning voice devouring every minute he had left.

After some time, he thrust away his plate and put his head in his hands. He felt that he had a right to know. It should have been told to him before, if it was as he suspected. Leaden with fear, his mother watched him. Words dropped mechanically from her lips. A tattered lace handkerchief twitched in her fingers. When the clock struck six, he got up and went to the door. Then he turned back and looked at her. Their eyes met. In hers he saw a wild appeal for mercy. It enraged him.

After a while, he pushed his plate away and put his head in his hands. He felt he had a right to know. If things were as he suspected, he should have been told before. His mother watched him, weighed down by fear. Words came mechanically from her lips. A torn lace handkerchief twitched in her fingers. When the clock struck six, he got up and went to the door. Then he turned back and looked at her. Their eyes met. He saw a desperate plea for mercy in her eyes. It enraged him.

“Mother, I have something to ask you,” he said. Her eyes wandered vaguely about the room. She made no answer. “Tell me the truth. I have a right to know. Were you married to my father?”

“Mother, I have something to ask you,” he said. Her eyes drifted around the room. She did not answer. “Tell me the truth. I have a right to know. Were you married to my father?”

She heaved a deep sigh. It was a sigh of relief. The terrible moment, the moment that night and day, for weeks and months, she had dreaded, had come at last, and yet she felt no terror. Indeed, in some measure it was a disappointment to her. The vulgar directness of the question called for a direct answer. The situation had not been gradually led up to. It was crude. It reminded her of a bad rehearsal.

She sighed deeply with relief. For weeks and months, she had dreaded this terrible moment, night and day. Now it had finally come, yet she felt no fear. In fact, she was somewhat disappointed. The question was crudely direct and called for a direct answer. There had been no gradual build-up to the moment. It was crude. It reminded her of a bad rehearsal.

“No,” she answered, wondering at the harsh simplicity of life.

“No,” she answered, wondering at how harsh and simple life was.

“My father was a scoundrel then!” cried the lad, clenching his fists.

“Then my father was a villain!” cried the young man, clenching his fists.

She shook her head. “I knew he was not free. We loved each other very much. If he had lived, he would have made provision for us. Don’t speak against him, my son. He was your father, and a gentleman. Indeed, he was highly connected.”

She shook her head. “I knew he was not free. We loved each other very much. If he had lived, he would have provided for us. Don’t speak against him, my son. He was your father and a gentleman. In fact, he had connections in high society.”

An oath broke from his lips. “I don’t care for myself,” he exclaimed, “but don’t let Sibyl.... It is a gentleman, isn’t it, who is in love with her, or says he is? Highly connected, too, I suppose.”

He swore. “I don’t care about myself,” he exclaimed, “but don’t let Sibyl.... It’s a gentleman who loves her, or says he does, isn’t it? Well connected, too, I suppose.”

For a moment a hideous sense of humiliation came over the woman. Her head drooped. She wiped her eyes with shaking hands. “Sibyl has a mother,” she murmured; “I had none.”

For a moment, the woman felt a terrible sense of humiliation. She lowered her head. She wiped her eyes with shaking hands. “Sibyl has a mother,” she murmured. “I had none.”

The lad was touched. He went towards her, and stooping down, he kissed her. “I am sorry if I have pained you by asking about my father,” he said, “but I could not help it. I must go now. Good-bye. Don’t forget that you will have only one child now to look after, and believe me that if this man wrongs my sister, I will find out who he is, track him down, and kill him like a dog. I swear it.”

The young man was moved. He went over to her, bent down, and kissed her. “I’m sorry if I hurt you by asking about my father,” he said, “but I couldn’t help asking. I have to go now. Goodbye. Don’t forget that you’ll have only one child to look after now. And believe me, if this man hurts my sister, I’ll find out who he is. I’ll track him down and kill him like a dog. I swear it.”

The exaggerated folly of the threat, the passionate gesture that accompanied it, the mad melodramatic words, made life seem more vivid to her. She was familiar with the atmosphere. She breathed more freely, and for the first time for many months she really admired her son. She would have liked to have continued the scene on the same emotional scale, but he cut her short. Trunks had to be carried down and mufflers looked for. The lodging-house drudge bustled in and out. There was the bargaining with the cabman. The moment was lost in vulgar details. It was with a renewed feeling of disappointment that she waved the tattered lace handkerchief from the window, as her son drove away. She was conscious that a great opportunity had been wasted. She consoled herself by telling Sibyl how desolate she felt her life would be, now that she had only one child to look after. She remembered the phrase. It had pleased her. Of the threat she said nothing. It was vividly and dramatically expressed. She felt that they would all laugh at it some day.

The absurdly exaggerated threat, the passionate gesture that went with it, and the wildly melodramatic words made life seem more vivid to her. She knew this atmosphere well. She breathed more freely and, for the first time in many months, truly admired her son. She would have liked to keep the scene going at the same emotional pitch, but he cut her short. Trunks had to be carried downstairs and scarves found. The lodging house servant hurried in and out. There was bargaining with the cab driver. The moment was lost in ordinary details. Feeling disappointed again, she waved her tattered lace handkerchief from the window as her son drove away. She knew a great opportunity had been wasted. She comforted herself by telling Sibyl how empty her life would feel now that she had only one child to look after. She remembered the phrase. It had pleased her. She said nothing about the threat. It had been expressed vividly and dramatically. She felt that they would all laugh at it someday.