“I never liked your allowing him to play with the children, James.”

“But the boy needs boy-company.”

“And what of Leila?  She needs girl-company.”

“I fear,” said Rivers, “that may be the case.”

“It is so,” said Mrs. Ann decisively, pleased with his support.  “What happened, James?”

“I did not push Leila about what Tom did.  John slapped his face and got knocked down.  He got up and went at Tom like a wildcat.  Tom knocked him down again and held him.  He said that John must say he had had enough.”

“He didn’t,” said Rivers, “I am sure he didn’t.”

“No, Mark, he said he would die first, which was what he should have said.  Then Billy had the sense to pull the big boy off, and as Leila was near tears I asked no more questions.  It was really most satisfactory.”

“How can you say that?” said his wife.  “It was brutal.”

“You do not often misunderstand me, Ann.  I mean, of course, that our boy did the right thing.  How does it strike you, Mark?”

He had a distinct intention to get the rector into trouble.  “Not this time, Squire,” and he laughed.  “The boy did what his nature bade him.  Of course, being a nice little boy, he should have remonstrated.  There are several ways—­”

“Thanks,” said Penhallow.  “Of course, Ann, the playing with Tom will end.  I fancy there is no need to interfere.”

“He should be punished for rudeness to Leila,” said Mrs. Penhallow.

“Oh, well, he’s a rough lad and like enough sorry.  How can I punish him without making too much of a row.”

“You are quite right, as I see it,” said Rivers.  “Let it drop; but, indeed, it is true that Leila should have other than rough lads as school-companions.”

“Oh, Lord!  Rivers.”

“I am glad to agree with you at least about one thing,” said Mrs. Penhallow.  “In September John will be sixteen, and Leila a year or so younger.  She is now simply a big, daring, strong boy.”

“If you think that, Ann, you are oddly mistaken.”

“I am,” she said; “I was.  It was only one end of my reasons why she must go to school.  Before John came and when we had cousins here—­girls, she simply despised them or led them into dreadful scrapes.”

“Well, Ann, we will talk it over another time.”

Rivers smiled and Ann Penhallow went out, longing to attend to the swollen face now bent low over a book.  The two men she left smoked in such silence as is one of the privileges of friendship.  At last Penhallow said, “Of course, Mark, my wife is right, but I shall miss the girl.  My wife cannot ride with me, and now I am to lose Leila.  After school come young men.  Confound it, rector, I wish the girl had less promise of beauty—­of—­well, all the Greys have it—­attractiveness for our sex.  Some of them are fools, but they have it all the same, and they keep it to the end.  What is most queer about it is that they are not easily won.  The men who trouble hearts for a game do not win these women.”