“I’ll have a talk with him,” George promised; and after a word of thanks Ethel turned away.

A little later she joined Mrs. Lansing, who was sitting alone in the shadow of a beech.

“I’m afraid I’ve added to George’s responsibilities—­he has agreed to take Edgar out,” she said.  “He has some reason for wishing to be delivered from his friends, though I don’t suppose he does so.”

“I’ve felt the same thing.  Of course, I’m not referring to Edgar—­his last scrape was only a trifling matter.”

“So he contends,” laughed Ethel.  “Stephen doesn’t agree with him.”

“Well,” said Mrs. Lansing, “I’ve often thought it’s a pity George didn’t marry somebody nice and sensible.”

“Would you apply that description to Sylvia?”

“Sylvia stands apart,” Mrs. Lansing declared.  “She can do what nobody else would venture on, and yet you feel you must excuse her.”

“Have you any particular exploit of hers in your mind?”

“I was thinking of when she accepted Dick Marston.  I believe even Dick was astonished.”

“Sylvia knows how to make herself irresistible,” said Ethel, strolling away a few moments later, somewhat troubled in mind.

She had cherished a half-tender regard for George, which, had it been reciprocated, might have changed to a deeper feeling.  The man was steadfast, chivalrous, honest, and she saw in him latent capabilities which few others suspected.  Still, his devotion to Sylvia had never been concealed, and Ethel had acquiesced in the situation, though she retained a strong interest in him.  She believed that in going to Canada he was doing an injudicious thing; but as his confidence was hard to shake, he could not be warned—­her conversation with him had made that plainer.  She would not regret it if Sylvia forgot him while he was absent; but there were other ways in which he might suffer, and she wished he had not chosen to place the management of his affairs in Herbert’s hands.

In the meanwhile, her brother had arrived, and he and George were sitting together on the opposite side of the lawn.  Edgar was a handsome, dark-haired lad, with a mischievous expression, and he sometimes owned that his capacity for seeing the humorous side of things was a gift that threatened to be his ruin.  Nevertheless, there was a vein of sound common sense in him, and he had a strong admiration for George Lansing.

“Why do you want to go with me?” the latter asked, pretending to be a bit stern, but liking the youngster all the while.

“That,” Edgar laughed, “is a rather euphemistic way of putting it.  My washes have not been consulted.  I must give my relatives the credit for the idea.  Still, one must admit they had some provocation.”

“It strikes me they have had a good deal of patience,” George said dryly.  “I suppose it’s exhausted.”

“No,” replied Edgar, with a confidential air; “it’s mine that has given out.  I’d better explain that being stuffed with what somebody calls formulae gets monotonous, and it’s a diet they’re rather fond of at Oxford.  Down here in the country they’re almost as bad; and pretending to admire things I don’t believe in positively hurts.  That’s why I sometimes protest, with, as a rule, disastrous results.”