Ranching for Sylvia | Page 6

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