Читать книгу Ranching for Sylvia - Harold Bindloss - Страница 6

On the afternoon following his arrival, George stood thoughtfully looking about on his cousin's lawn. Creepers flecked the mellow brick front of the old house with sprays of tender leaves; purple clematis hung from a trellis; and lichens tinted the low terrace wall with subdued coloring. The grass was flanked by tall beeches, rising in masses of bright verdure against a sky of clearest blue; and beyond it, across the sparkling river, smooth meadows ran back to the foot of the hills. It was, in spite of the bright sunshine, all so fresh and cool: a picture that could be enjoyed only in rural England.

George was sensible of the appeal it made to him; now, when he must shortly change such scenes for the wide levels of western Canada, which are covered during most of the year with harsh, gray grass, alternately withered by frost and sun, he felt their charm. It was one thing to run across to Norway on a fishing or mountaineering trip and come back when he wished, but quite another to settle down on the prairie where he must remain until his work should be done. Moreover, for Mrs. Lansing had many friends, the figures scattered about the lawn—young men and women in light summer attire—enhanced the attractiveness of the surroundings. They were nice people, with pleasant English ways; and George contrasted them with the rather grim, aggressive plainsmen among whom he would presently have to live: men who toiled in the heat, half naked, and who would sit down to meals with him in dusty, unwashed clothes. He was not a sybarite, but he preferred the society of Mrs. Lansing's guests.

After a while she beckoned him, and they leaned upon the terrace wall side by side. She was a good-natured, simple woman, with strongly domestic habits and conventional views.

"I'm glad Herbert has got away from business for a few days," she began. "He works too hard, and it's telling on him. How do you think he is looking?"

George knew she was addicted to displaying a needless anxiety about her husband's health. It had struck him that Herbert was getting stouter; but he now remembered having noticed a hint of care in his face.

"The rest will do him good," he said.

Mrs. Lansing's conversation was often disconnected, and she now changed the subject.

"Herbert tells me you are going to Canada. As you're fond of the open air, you will enjoy it."

"I suppose so," George assented rather dubiously.

"Of course, it's very generous, and Sylvia's fortunate in having you to look after things"—Mrs. Lansing paused before adding—"but are you altogether wise in going, George?"

Lansing knew that his hostess loved romance, and sometimes attempted to assist in one, but he would have preferred another topic.

"I don't see what else I could do," he said.

"That's hardly an answer. You will forgive me for speaking plainly, but what I meant was this—your devotion to Sylvia is not a secret."

"I wish it were!" George retorted. "But I don't intend to deny it."

His companion looked at him reproachfully.

"Don't get restive; I've your best interests at heart. You're a little too confiding and too backward, George. Sylvia slipped through your fingers once before."

George's brown face colored deeply. He was angry, but Mrs. Lansing was not to be deterred.

"Take a hint and stay at home," she went on. "It might pay you better."

"And let Sylvia's property be sacrificed?"

"Yes, if necessary." She looked at him directly. "You have means enough."

He struggled with his indignation. Sylvia hated poverty, and it had been suggested that he should turn the fact to his advantage. The idea that she might be more willing to marry him if she were poor was most unpleasant.

"Sylvia's favor is not to be bought," he said.

Mrs. Lansing's smile was half impatient.

"Oh, well, if you're bent on going, there's nothing to be said.

Sylvia, of course, will stay with us."

The arrangement was a natural one, as Sylvia was a relative of hers; but George failed to notice that her expression grew thoughtful as she glanced toward where Sylvia was sitting with a man upon whom the soldier stamp was plainly set. George followed her gaze and frowned, but he said nothing, and his companion presently moved away. Soon afterward he crossed the lawn and joined a girl who waited for him. Ethel West was tall and strongly made. She was characterized by a keen intelligence and bluntness of speech. Being an old friend of George's, she occasionally assumed the privilege of one.

"I hear you are going to Canada. What is taking you there again?" she asked.

"I am going to look after some farming property, for one thing."

Ethel regarded him with amusement.

"Sylvia Marston's, I suppose?"

"Yes," George answered rather shortly.

"Then what's the other purpose you have in view?"

George hesitated.

"I'm not sure I have another motive."

"So I imagined. You're rather an exceptional man—in some respects."

"If that's true, I wasn't aware of it," George retorted.

Ethel laughed.

"It's hardly worth while to prove my statement; we'll talk of something else. Has Herbert told you anything about his business since you came back? I suppose you have noticed signs of increased prosperity?"

"I'm afraid I'm not observant, and Herbert isn't communicative."

"Perhaps he's wise. Still, the fact that he's putting up a big new orchard-house has some significance. I understand from Stephen that he's been speculating largely in rubber shares. It's a risky game."

"I suppose it is," George agreed. "But it's most unlikely that Herbert will come to grief. He has a very long head; I believe he could, for example, buy and sell me."

"That wouldn't be very difficult. I suspect Herbert isn't the only one of your acquaintances who is capable of doing as much."

Her eyes followed Sylvia, who was then walking across the grass. Sylvia's movements were always graceful, and she had now a subdued, pensive air that rendered her appearance slightly pathetic. Ethel's face, however, grew quietly scornful. She knew what Sylvia's forlorn and helpless look was worth.

"I'm not afraid that anybody will try," George replied.

"Your confidence is admirable." laughed Ethel; "but I mustn't appear too cynical, and I've a favor to ask. Will you take Edgar out with you?"

George felt a little surprised. Edgar was her brother, a lad of somewhat erratic habits and ideas, who had been at Oxford when George last heard of him.

"Yes, if he wants to go, and Stephen approves," he said; for Stephen, the lawyer, was an elder brother, and the Wests had lost their parents.

"He will be relieved to get him off his hands for a while; but Edgar will be over to see you during the afternoon. He's spending a week or two with the Charltons."

"I remember that young Charlton and he were close acquaintances."

"That was the excuse for the visit; but you had better understand that there was a certain amount of friction when Edgar came home after some trouble with the authorities. In his opinion, Stephen is too fond of making mountains out of molehills; but I must own that Edgar's molehills have a way of increasing in size, and the last one caused us a good deal of uneasiness. Anyway, we have decided that a year's hard work in Canada might help to steady him, even if he doesn't follow up farming. The main point is that he would be safe with you."

"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."

"Disastrous to the objectionable ideas or customs?"

"No," laughed the lad; "to me. Have you ever noticed how vindictive narrow-minded people get when you destroy their pet delusions?"

"I can't remember ever having done so."'

"Then you'll come to it. If you're honest it's unavoidable; only some people claim that they make the attack from duty, while I find a positive pleasure in the thing."

"There's one consolation—you won't have much time for such proceedings if you come with me. You'll have to work in Canada."

"I anticipated something of the sort," the lad rejoined. Then he grew serious. "Have you decided who's to look after your affairs while you are away? If you haven't, you might do worse than leave them to Stephen. He's steady and safe as a rock, and, after all, the three per cent. you're sure of is better than a handsome dividend you may never get."

"I can't give Herbert the go-by. He's the obvious person to do whatever may be needful."

"I suppose so," Edgar assented, with some reluctance. "No doubt he'd feel hurt if you asked anybody else; but I wish you could have got Stephen."

He changed the subject; and when some of the others came up and joined them, he resumed his humorous manner.

"I'm not asking for sympathy," he said, in answer to one remark. "I'm going out to extend the bounds of the empire, strengthen the ties with the mother country, and that sort of thing. It's one of the privileges that seem to be attached to the possession of a temperament like mine."

"How will you set about the work?" somebody asked.

"With the plow and the land-packer," George broke in. "He'll have the satisfaction of driving them twelve hours a day. It happens to be the most effective way of doing the things he mentions."

Edgar's laughter followed him as he left the group.

After dinner that evening Herbert invited George into the library.

"Parker has come over about my lease, and his visit will save you a journey," he explained. "We may as well get things settled now while he's here."

George went with him to the library, where the lawyer sat at a writing-table. He waited in silence while Herbert gave the lawyer a few instructions. A faint draught flowed in through an open window, and gently stirred the litter of papers; a shaded lamp stood on the table, and its light revealed the faces of the two men near it with sharp distinctness, though outside the circle of brightness the big room was almost dark.

It struck George that his cousin looked eager, as if he were impatient to get the work finished; but he reflected that this was most likely because Herbert wished to discuss the matter of the lease. Then he remembered with a little irritation what Ethel said during the afternoon. It was not very lucid, but he had an idea that she meant to warn him; and Edgar had gone some length in urging that he should leave the care of his property to another man. This was curious, but hardly to be taken into consideration, Herbert was capable and exact in his dealings; and yet for a moment or two George was troubled by a faint doubt. It appeared irrational, and he drove it out of his mind when Herbert spoke.

"The deed's ready; you have only to sign," he said, indicating a paper. Then he added, with a smile: "You quite realize the importance of what you are doing?"

The lawyer turned to George.

"This document gives Mr. Lansing full authority to dispose of your possessions as he thinks fit. In accordance with it, his signature will be honored as if it were yours."

Parker's expression was severely formal, and his tone businesslike; but he had known George for a long while, and had served his father. Again, for a moment, George had an uneasy feeling that he was being warned; but he had confidence in his friends, and his cousin was eminently reliable.

"I know that," he answered. "I've left matters in Herbert's hands on other occasions, with fortunate results. Will you give me a pen?"

The lawyer watched him sign with an inscrutable face, but when he laid down the pen, Herbert drew back out of the strong light. He was folding the paper with a sense of satisfaction and relief.