“I suppose so, but I wish we could have given it to him.”

Sylvia touched his cheek caressingly.

“Don’t be foolish; it’s out of the question.  You will have to be economical enough as it is, but you shan’t make any sacrifice that isn’t strictly necessary.”

During the next few weeks George made some visits among his friends, but he returned to the Wests shortly before Edgar sailed for Canada.  On the night preceding his departure they were sitting together when Edgar looked at him thoughtfully.

“George,” he remarked, “I wonder if it has ever struck you that you’re a very short-sighted person?  I mean that you don’t realize where your interest lies.”

“It’s possible,” said George.  “What particular oversight are you referring to?”

“It isn’t easy to answer bluntly, and if I threw out any delicate suggestions, they’d probably be wasted.  You saw a good deal of Flora Grant, and if you had any sense you would have recognized what kind of girl she is.”

“Miss Grant doesn’t need your praise.”

“I’m glad you admit it; appreciation’s sometimes mutual.  Now I can’t undertake to say what Flora implied from your visits, but I’ve no doubt about what her father expected.”

The blood crept into George’s face as he remembered Grant’s manner during their last interview.

“I did nothing that could have led him to believe—­”

“Oh, no!” said Edgar.  “You behaved with the greatest prudence; perhaps frigid insensibility would describe it better.  Of course this is a deplorable intrusion, but I feel I must point out that it may not be too late yet.”

“I’ve felt greatly tempted to buy Sylvia’s farm,” George said thoughtfully.

“That’s good news.  If you’re wise, you’ll consider what I’ve said.”

George did so after Edgar’s departure, though the idea was not new to him.  He had long been sensible of Flora’s charm, and had now and then felt in Canada that it would not be difficult to love her.  Since he had learned the truth about Sylvia, Flora had occupied a prominent place in his mind.  By degrees a desire for her had grown stronger; he had seen how admirable in many ways she was, how staunch and fearless and upright.  Still, he feared to go back; she was proud and might scorn his tardy affection.  He grew disturbed and occasionally moody, and then one day a cablegram was delivered to him.

“Believe you had better come back,” it read, and was signed by Helen Taunton.

George understood what it was intended to convey, and before night he had arranged to purchase Sylvia’s farm.

Three days later he was crossing the Atlantic with an eager and thankful heart.