“Whether she likes it or not!  Of course she likes it!  Aren’t you and she the best friends in the world?”

“I’m not so sure.  Sally’s good friends with everybody—­but ’the best in the world’—­well—­I don’t know!”

His tone was peculiar.  Josephine looked quickly at him, through her enveloping veils.  He was staring at the road ahead—­as the driver of a high-powered motor through April mud must do, of course—­yet his sister thought she detected a curious compression of the lips not due wholly to the strain of driving under difficulties.

“You’re not afraid of her next-door neighbour, are you?” ventured the girl, casually, as if she meant nothing by the query.

“I like him immensely, as you know,” was the quick reply.  “And trust him, too—­like a brother.  But—­well—­it’s no use talking about it.  It’s a fair field and no favours—­and I can’t complain of that.  But—­I’d rather like the advantage of being on the ground all summer, don’t you see?  Alone, there, even though I’m off in the fields half the time, I’ll have to be everlastingly careful that I don’t make myself intrusive.  With you and mother there, the whole situation would be different.  You do see, don’t you, Sis?”

He looked round at her for an instant, to search her face beneath the masking veils, confident that if he could be sure of her sympathy his sister was the strongest ally he could have.  The subject had never been brought up quite so definitely between them before, although Jarvis had no doubt that both mother and sister understood the long persisting intention which within the last year had grown in him so overwhelmingly strong.

The machine, after the manner of motor-cars, took the opportunity of his momentary relaxation of vigilance to skid rather alarmingly in a particularly slippery section of clay road.  Though Jarvis promptly brought it about and had things in hand again, Josephine forgot to answer while she resumed control over the function of breathing.  But when her brother gently repeated his question she answered warmly: 

“Indeed I do, boy—­and more clearly than I have before.  For myself, I should love to spend the summer with Sally, and I’ll do my best to bring it about.”

That was all he wanted, and he plunged into talk about the farm, what had been done, what was being done, and what remained to do.  It seemed that, while much had been accomplished, a mountain of tasks remained.  The place had been running down so long that every inch of it required immediate taking in hand.

“There’s not much to expect the first year in the way of crops,” he explained.  “We shall plough all we can in April, and sow it in May to buckwheat.”

“Buckwheat!  What do you want of that?”