Mrs. Lansing was a lady of strict conventional views, and she showed some disapproval.

“But you can hardly make visits yet!”

“I don’t see why I can’t visit Susan.  She’s a relative, and it isn’t as if she were entertaining a number of people.  She says she’s very quiet; she has hardly asked anybody, only one or two intimate friends.”

“She’ll have three or four men down for the partridge shooting.”

“After all,” said Sylvia, “I can’t make her send them away.  You have once or twice had men from town here.”

“Susan leads a very different life from mine,” Mrs. Lansing persisted.  “She’s a little too fond of amusement, and I don’t approve of all her friends.”  She paused as an idea struck her.  “Is Captain Bland going there for the shooting?”

“I really can’t tell you.  Is there any reason why she shouldn’t invite him?”

Mrs. Lansing would have preferred that Sylvia should not see so much of Bland as she was likely to do if she stayed in the same house with him, though she knew of nothing in particular to his discredit.  He had served without distinction in two campaigns, he lived extravagantly, and was supposed to be something of a philanderer.  Indeed, not long ago, an announcement of his engagement to a lady of station had been confidently expected; but the affair had, for some unknown reason, suddenly fallen through.  Mrs. Lansing was puzzled about him.  If the man were looking for a wealthy wife, why should he be attracted, as she thought he was, by Sylvia, who had practically nothing.

“I’d really rather have you remain with us; but of course I can’t object to your going,” she said.

“I knew you would be nice about it,” Sylvia exclaimed.  “I must have a talk with Herbert; you said he would be home this evening.”

Lansing’s business occasionally prevented his nightly return from the nearest large town, but he arrived some hours later, and after dinner Sylvia found him in his smoking-room.  He looked up with a smile when she came in, for their relations were generally pleasant.  They understood each other, though this did not lead to mutual confidence or respect.

“Well?” he said.

Sylvia sat down in an easy chair, adopting, as she invariably did, a becoming pose, and handed him George’s letter.

“He hasn’t sent you very much,” Herbert remarked.

“No,” said Sylvia, “that’s the difficulty.”

“So I anticipated.  You’re not economical.”

Sylvia laughed.

“I won’t remind you of your failings.  You have one virtue—­you can be liberal when it suits you; and you’re my trustee.”

Lansing’s rather fleshy, smooth-shaven face grew thoughtful, but Sylvia continued: 

“I’m going to Susan’s, and I really need a lot of new clothes.”

“For a week or two’s visit?”

“I may, perhaps, go on somewhere else afterward.”