Lansing regarded her with ironical amus.e.m.e.nt; he knew what her grat.i.tude was worth.
"Yes," he agreed significantly, "George seldom expects anything for himself. I"m afraid I"m different in that respect."
Sylvia sat silent for a few moments, because she understood. If Herbert granted the favor, he would look for something in return, though she had no idea what this would be. She was conscious of a certain hesitation, but she did not allow it to influence her.
"I don"t doubt it," she rejoined with a smile. "Can"t you let me have a check? That will make you my creditor, but I"m not afraid you"ll be very exacting.
"Well," was the response, "I will see what I can do."
She went out and Lansing filled his pipe with a feeling of satisfaction. He was not running much risk in parting with the money, and Sylvia might prove useful by and by.
Sylvia left Brantholme shortly afterward and, somewhat to her annoyance, found Ethel West a guest at the house she visited. Ethel had known d.i.c.k; she was a friend of George"s, and, no doubt, in regular communication with her brother in Canada. It was possible that she might allude to Sylvia"s doings when she wrote; but there was some consolation in remembering that George was neither an imaginative nor a censorious person.
Sylvia had spent a delightful week in her new surroundings, when she descended the broad stairway one night with a shawl upon her arm and an elegantly bound little notebook in her hand. A handsome, dark-haired man whose bearing proclaimed him a soldier walked at her side. Bland"s glance was quick and direct, but he had a genial smile and his manners were usually characterized by a humorous boldness. Still, it was difficult to find fault with them, and Sylvia had acquiesced in his rather marked preference for her society. She was, however, studying the little book as she went down the shallow steps and her expression indicated dissatisfaction.
"I"m afraid it was my fault, though you had very bad luck," said the man, noticing her look. "I"m dreadfully sorry."
"It was your fault," Sylvia rejoined, with some petulance. "When I held my best hand I was deceived by your lead. Besides, as I told the others, I didn"t mean to play; you shouldn"t have come down and persuaded me."
Bland considered. On the whole Sylvia played a good game, but she was obviously a little out of practise, for his lead had really been the correct one, though she had not understood it. This, however, was of no consequence; it was her concluding words that occupied his attention. They had, he thought, been spoken with a full grasp of their significance; his companion was not likely to be guilty of any ill-considered admission.
"Then I"m flattered that my influence goes so far, though it"s perhaps unlucky in the present instance," he said boldly. "I"ll own that I"m responsible for our misfortunes and I"m ready to take the consequences.
Please give me that book."
"No," Sylvia replied severely. "I feel guilty for playing at all, but the line must be drawn."
"Where do you feel inclined to draw it?"
They had reached the hall and Sylvia turned and looked at him directly, but with a trace of coquetry.
"At allowing a comparative stranger to meet my losses, if I must be blunt."
"The arrangement isn"t altogether unusual. In this case, it"s a duty, and the restriction you make doesn"t bar me out. I"m not a stranger."
"A mere acquaintance then," said Sylvia.
"That won"t do either. It doesn"t apply to me."
"Then I"ll have to alter the cla.s.sification." She broke into a soft laugh. "It"s difficult to think of a term to fit; would you like to suggest something?"
Several epithets occurred to the man, but he feared to make too rash a venture.
"Well," he said, "would you object to--confidential friend?"
Sylvia"s smile seemed to taunt him.
"Certainly; it goes too far. One doesn"t become a confidential friend in a very limited time."
"I"ve known it happen in a few days."
"Friendships of that kind don"t last. In a little while you find you have been deceived. But we won"t talk of these things. You can"t have the book, and I"m going out."
He held up the shawl, which she draped about her shoulders, and they strolled on to the terrace. The night was calm and pleasantly cool; beyond the black line of hedge across the lawn, meadows and harvest fields, with rows of sheaves that cast dark shadows behind them, stretched away in the moonlight. After a while Sylvia stopped and leaned upon the broad-topped wall.
"It"s really pretty," she remarked.
"Yes," returned Bland; "it"s more than pretty. There"s something in it that rests one. I sometimes wish I could live in such a place as this altogether."
Sylvia was astonished, because she saw he meant it.
"After your life, you would get horribly tired of it in three months."
"After my life? Do you know what that has been?"
"Race meetings, polo matches, hilarious mess dinners."
He laughed, rather shortly.
"I suppose so; but they"re not the only army duties. Some of the rest are better, abroad; but they"re frequently accompanied by semi-starvation, scorching heat or stinging cold, and fatigue; and it doesn"t seem to be the rule that those who bear the heaviest strain are remembered when promotion comes."
Sylvia studied him attentively. Bland was well and powerfully made, and she liked big men--there was more satisfaction in bending them to her will. In spite of his careless good-humor, he bore a certain stamp of distinction; he was an excellent card-player, he could dance exceptionally well, and she had heard him spoken of as a first-cla.s.s shot. It was unfortunate that these abilities were of less account in a military career than she had supposed; but, when properly applied, they carried their possessor some distance in other fields. What was as much to the purpose, Bland appeared to be wealthy, and took a leading part in social amus.e.m.e.nts and activities.
"I suppose that is the case," she said sympathetically, in answer to his last remark. "You have never told me anything about your last campaign. You were injured in it, were you not?"
The man had his weaknesses, but they did not include any desire to retail his exploits and sufferings to women"s ears. He would not speak of his wounds, honorably received, or of perils faced as carelessly as he had exposed his men.
"Yes," he answered. "But that was bad enough at the time, and the rest of it would make a rather monotonous tale."
"Surely not!" protested Sylvia. "The thrill and bustle of a campaign must be wonderfully exciting."
"The novelty of marching steadily in a blazing sun, drinking bad water, and shoveling trenches half the night, soon wears off," he said with a short laugh, and changed the subject. "One could imagine that you"re not fond of quietness."
Sylvia shivered. The memory of her two years in Canada could not be banished. She looked back on them with something like horror.
"No," she declared; "I hate it! It"s deadly to me."
"Well, I"ve an idea. There"s the Dene Hall charity gymkana comes off in a few days. It"s semi-private, and I know the people; in fact they"ve made me enter for some of the events. It"s a pretty ride to the place, and I can get a good car. Will you come?"
"I don"t know whether I ought," said Sylvia, with some hesitation.
"Think over it, anyway," he begged her.
One or two people came out, and when somebody called her name Sylvia left him, without promising. Bland remained leaning on the wall and thinking hard. Sylvia strongly attracted him. She was daintily pretty, quick of comprehension, and, in spite of her black attire, which at times gave her a forlorn air that made him compa.s.sionate, altogether charming. It was, however, unfortunate that he could not marry a poor wife, and he knew nothing about Sylvia"s means. To do him justice, he had shrunk from any attempt to obtain information on this point; but he felt that it would have to be made before things went too far. His thoughts were interrupted by Ethel West, who strolled along the terrace and stopped close at hand.
"I didn"t expect to find you wrapped in contemplation," she remarked.
"As a matter of fact, I"ve been talking."