“I don’t think so.  You are the one she should love—­who deserves her love,” he answered emphatically.

“Come, Joseph,” cried Adelaide.  “If these two are going to bandy compliments, you and I are not wanted.”

“Don’t go, Adelaide:  I have worlds yet to say to you,” said Edgar.

“Thanks! another time.  I do not like to see things of which I disapprove,” was her answer, touching her ponies gently and moving away slowly.

When she had drawn off out of earshot she beckoned Edgar with her whip.  It was impolitic, but she was too deeply moved to make accurate calculations.  “Dear Edgar, do not be offended with me,” she said in her noblest, most sisterly manner.  “Of course I do not wish to interfere, and it is no business of mine, but is it right to fool that unhappy girl as you are doing?  I put it to you, as one woman anxious for the happiness and reputation of another—­as an old friend who values you too much to see you make the mistake you are making now without a word of warning.  It can be no business of mine, outside the purest regard and consideration for you as well as for her.  I do not like her, but I do not want to see her in a false position and with a damaged character through you.”

Had they been alone, Edgar would probably have accepted this remonstrance amicably enough.  He might even have gone a long way in proving it needless.  But in the presence of Josephine his pride took the alarm, and the weapon intended for Leam cut Adelaide’s fingers instead.

He listened patiently till she ended, then he drew himself up.  “Thanks!” he drawled affectedly.  “You are very kind both to Miss Dundas and myself.  All the world knows that the most vigilant overseer a pretty girl can have is a pretty woman.  When the reputation of Miss Dundas is endangered by me, it will then be time for her father to interfere.  Meanwhile, thanks!  I like her quite well enough to take care of her.”

“Now, Adelaide, you have vexed him,” said Josephine in dismay as Edgar strode back to where Leam remained waiting for him.

“I have done my duty,” said Adelaide, drawing her lips into a thin line and lowering her eyebrows; and her friend knew her moods and respected them.

On this point of warning Edgar against an entanglement with Leam she did really think that she had done her duty.  She knew that she wished to marry him herself—­in fact, meant to marry him—­and that she would probably have been his wife before now had it not been for this girl and her untimely witcheries; but though, naturally enough, she was not disposed to love Leam any the more because she had come between her and her intended husband, she thought that she would have borne the disappointment with becoming magnanimity if she had been of the right kind for Edgar’s wife.  With Adelaide, as with so many among us, conventional harmony was a religion in itself, and he who despised its ritual was a blasphemer.