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

“Who?” said Jim Vane.

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

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 is gone,” murmured Sibyl 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.”

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.

“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.

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.”

“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.”

“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?”

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

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

“And he?”

“For ever, too!”