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