“Are you through, with this nonsense, Leila?” he said as he rose.  “Is this an ingenious little game set up between you and John?” To his utter amazement she began to cry.

“By George!” he said, “don’t cry,” which is what a kind man always says when presented with the riddle of tears.

She drew a brown fist across her wet cheeks and said indignantly, “My cousin is a gentleman.”

She turned to go by him.  “No, dear, wait a moment.”  He held her arm.

“Please, let me go.  When John first came, you said he was a prig—­and if he would just do some boy-mischief and kick up his heels like a two-year-old with some fun in him—­you said he was a sort of girl-boy—­” There were for punctuation sobs and silences.

“And where did you get all this about a prig?” he broke in, amazed.

“Oh, I heard you tell Aunt Ann.  And now,” said Portia, “the first time he does a real nice jolly piece of mischief you come down on him like—­like a thousand of bricks.”  Her slang was reserved for the Squire, as he well knew.

The blue eyes shining with tears looked up from under the glorious disorder of the mass of hair.  It was too much for the man.

“How darned logical you are!” He acknowledged some consciousness of having been inconsistent.  He had said one thing and done another.  “You are worse than your aunt.”  Then Leila knew that Ann Penhallow had talked to the Squire.  “Well,” he said, “what’s your opinion, Miss Grey?”

“I think you’re distanced.”

“What—­what!  Wait a little.  You may tell that young man to ride when he pleases and to swim, and to tell those scamps it’s too hot to deprive them of the use of the pool.  There, now get out!”

“But—­Uncle Jim—­I—­can’t.  Oh, I really can’t.  You’ve got to do it yourself.”  This he much disliked to do.

“I hear your aunt calling.  Mr. Rivers is going.”

She kissed him.  “Now, don’t wait, Uncle Jim, and don’t scold John.  He’s been no use for these four days.  Goodnight,” and she left him.

“Well, well,” he said, “I suppose I’ve got to do it.”

He found Ann alone.

“About John!  I can’t stand up against you two.  He is to be let off about the riding and swimming.  I think you may find it pleasant to tell him, my dear.”

She said gravely, “It will come with more propriety from you; but I do think you are right.”  Then he knew that he had to do it himself.

“Very well, dear,” he said.  “How that girl is developing.  It is time she had other company than John, but Lord! how I shall miss her—­”

“And I, James.”

He went out for the walk he generally took before bed-time.  She lingered, putting things in order on her work-table, wondering what Leila could have said to thus influence a man the village described as “set in his ways.”  She was curious to know, but not of a mind to question Leila.  Before going to bed, she went to her own sitting-room on the left of the hall.  It was sacred to domestic and church business.  It held a few books and was secured by long custom from men’s tobacco smoke.  She sat down and wrote to her cousin, George Grey.