So he schemed and hoped and feared, wandering about, a bitter, blighted man.
CHAPTER XX
A PROPOSAL
It was the day following the great race. Huey, who was seeking an interview with Bertha, had come to the Botanic Gardens. He knew it was her afternoon of liberty, and that was her favourite walk. So he strolled about waiting and hoping a good hour before the expected time.
Perhaps there are no such gardens in the world. A horseshoe bay, perhaps half-a-mile across; its shore terraced and shut in by slight rising hills, whose slopes are turfed with verdure, and dotted here and there with tropical foliage, flower-beds of many patterns, sweet-smelling shrubs, and bowers of rattans and giant grasses. Paths wind about in surprising curves, and lead to sequestered summer-houses and lovers’ seats that invite to wooing, even though the voice of the cooing doves were hushed that call aloud from every grove. And when the mind wearies of the green foliage, the bright-hued flowers, and landscape of ever-varied plants, there is the sea. Farm Cove the bay is called. Trim yachts are anchored there, the warships of the nations lie at friendly anchorage, and from time to time over the blue water the music of their bands is wafted, or the shrill pipe of the boatswain’s whistle. Clean, dainty ships that bask there in the bright sunshine on the lazy tide, as though peace on earth and sea was decreed for evermore. And beyond the men-of-war, and across the wide stretch of harbour, there are the blue-grey shores of Neutral and Mosman Bays, the rugged heights of Cremorne and Bradley, all dotted with embowered villas, half-hidden cottages, and covered with a haze like a bloom.
And over all a cloudless sky, pale-blue and distant, with an unveiled sun that shines down its vivid light on land and sea. It is such a view as fairyland might offer, and the artist with his crude pigments and paints abandon in despair as hopeless of depiction.
No wonder that Bertha came there from week to week, arrayed in her best, all smiling and sweet. She did only as the wild birds do, who find no safer haven than this oasis of Paradise in the city’s midst.
Huey Gosper looked again and again at the watch he carried, and at last his waiting was rewarded. He could see her plainly, all unconscious of his presence, coming towards him. With a look of unconcern he went to meet her, and so it came about that presently they were pacing side by side.
“I am very sorry,” said Huey, “that it was not I who brought you the Cup last night. My horse lost it by a head, and I counted on it as a certainty.”
“Oh, don’t speak any more of it. I am utterly tired with the Cup and the talk about it. I am sorry for you that you have lost, and all the others whose money has gone. Perhaps they will be wiser next time.”
“I know you value these things very lightly, Miss Summerhayes. You are not like other girls, taking all that glitters and glares for the real metal, and, poor as I am, I make bold to speak to you as I have never spoken to woman before. From my first seeing you at Windsor—do you remember the time?—I have been mad for love of you. If I came to Sydney it was to follow you; if I have striven to make money at a detestable calling it was for you. And if I strove and planned for months and months to win yesterday’s race, you were the prize always in my thoughts that the horse was to win. I know I am not worthy of you; no man is. I am full of faults, yet it maddens me to see you slaving in that golden hell, with two trollops unworthy to lace your shoes. I would like you to lead a different life, for I am sure your present place must be hateful to you. I would do anything, everything if you would only say the word, and be my wife. Bertha, will you marry me?”