Free My Brilliant Career by Miles Franklin

but showed off to the others for my benefit. After dinner we had music and singing in the drawing room. I was enjoying it immensely, but Grannie thought I had better go to bed, as I had been traveling since about midnight last night. I was neither tired nor sleepy, but knew it useless to protest, so bade everyone good night and marched off. Mr. Hawden acknowledged my salute with great airs and stiffness, and Aunt Helen whispered that she would come and see me by and by, if I was awake.
    Grannie escorted me to my room, and examined my hair. I shook it out for her inspection. It met with her approval in every way. She pronounced it beautifully fine, silky, and wavy, and the most wonderful head of hair she had seen out of a picture.
    A noise arose somewhere out in the back premises. Grannie went out to ascertain the cause of it and did not return to me, so I extinguished my lamp and sat thinking in the glow of the firelight.
    For the first time my thoughts reverted to my leave-taking from home. My father had kissed me with no more warmth than if I had been leaving for a day only; my mother had kissed me very coldly, saying shortly, “It is to be hoped, Sybylla, that your behavior to your grandmother will be an improvement upon what it has ever been to me.” Gertie was the only one who had felt any sorrow at parting with me, and I knew that she was of such a disposition that I would be forgotten in a day or two. They would never miss me, for I had no place in their affections. True, I was an undutiful child, and deserved none. I possessed no qualities that would win either their pride or love, but my heart cried out in love for them.
    Would Gertie miss me tonight, as I would have missed her had our positions been reversed? Not she. Would my absence from the noisy tea table cause a blank? I feared not.
    I thought of poor Mother left toiling at home, and my heart grew heavy; I failed to remember my father’s faults, but thought of his great patience with me in the years agone, and all myold-time love for him renewed itself. Why, oh, why would they not love me a little in return! Certainly I had never striven to be lovable. But see the love some have lavished upon them without striving for it! Why was I ugly and nasty and miserable and useless—without a place in the world?

CHAPTER NINE
Aunt Helen’s Recipe
    Dear me, Sybylla, not in bed yet, and tears, great big tears! Tell me what is the cause of them.”
    It was Aunt Helen’s voice; she had entered and lit the lamp.
    There was something beautifully sincere and real about Aunt Helen. She never fussed over anyone or pretended to sympathize just to make out how nice she was. She was real, and you felt that no matter what wild or awful rubbish you talked to her it would never be retailed for anyone’s amusement—and, better than all, she never lectured.
    She sat down beside me, and I impulsively threw my arms around her neck and sobbed forth my troubles in a string. How there was no good in the world, no use for me there, no one loved me or ever could on account of my hideousness.
    She heard me to the end and then said quietly, “When you are fit to listen I will talk to you.”
    I controlled myself instantly and waited expectantly. What would she say? Surely not that tame old yarn anent this world being merely a place of probation, wherein we were allowed time to fit ourselves for a beautiful world to come. That old tune may be all very well for old codgers tottering on the brink of the grave, but to young persons with youth and romance and good health surging through their veins, it is most boresome. Would she preach that it was flying in the face of providence to moan about my appearance? it being one of the greatest blessings I had, as it would save me from countless temptations to which pretty girls are born. That was another piece of old croaking of the job’s comforter order, of which I was sick unto death, as I am sure there is not