He went on up the road to North Hill House and felt the evening had grown tasteless without her.  He counted the hours to when he would see her again.  She went to work at seven o’clock, but he never appeared at the Mill until ten, or later.

He began to see that this was the most serious thing within his experience.  He supposed that it must be enduring and tend to alter the whole tenor of his life.  Marriage was one of the stock jokes in his circle, yet, having regard for Sabina, this meant marriage or nothing.  He felt ill at ease, for love had not yet taken the bit and run away with him.  Other interests cried out to him—­interests that he would have to give up.  He tried to treat the matter as a joke with himself, but he could not.  He felt melancholy, and that night at supper Waldron asked what was wrong, while Estelle told him he must be ill, because he was so dull.

“I don’t believe the spinning works are good for you,” she said.

“Ask for a holiday and distract your mind with other things,” suggested Waldron.  “If you’d come out in the mornings and ride for a couple of hours before breakfast, as I do, you’d be all right.”

“I will,” promised Raymond.  “I want bucking up.”

He pictured Sabina on horseback.

“I wish to God I was rich instead of being a pauper!” he exclaimed.

“My advice is that you stick it out for a year or more, till you’ve convinced your brother you’ll never be any good at spinning,” said Arthur Waldron.  “Then, after he knows you’re not frightened of work, but, of course, can’t excel at work that isn’t congenial, he’ll put money into your hands for a higher purpose, and you will go into breeding stock, or some such thing, to help keep up the sporting instincts of the country.”

With that bright picture still before him Raymond retired.  But he was not hopeful and even vague suggestions on Waldron’s part that his friend should become his bailiff and study agriculture did not serve to win from the sufferer more than thanks.  The truth he did not mention, knowing that neither Waldron, nor anybody else, would offer palatable counsel in connection with that.

CHAPTER VIII

THE LECTURE

Daniel Ironsyde sat with his Aunt Jenny after dinner and voiced discontent.  But it was not with himself and his personal progress that he felt out of tune.  All went well at the Mill save in one particular, and he found no fault either with the heads of the offices at Bridport, or with John Best, who entirely controlled the manufacture at Bridetown.  His brother caused the tribulation of his mind.

Miss Ironsyde sympathised, but argued for Raymond.

“He has an immense respect for you and would not willingly do anything to annoy you, I’m sure of that.  You must remember that Raymond was not schooled to this.  It takes a boy of his temperament a long time to find the yoke easy.  You were naturally studious, and wise enough to get into harness after you left school; Raymond, with his extraordinary physical powers, found the fascination of sport over-mastering.  He has had to give up what to your better understanding is trivial and unimportant, but it really meant something to him.”