Sebastian, and it was merely odious for St. Sebastian
himself. In fact, at this moment, when Michael was rowing them back
across the full-flooded estuary, Francis was explaining this with his
customary lucidity.

"I don't do any good here, Mike," he said. "Uncle Robert doesn't speak
to me any more than he does to you, except when Aunt Marion is there.
And there's nothing going on, is there? I practically asked if I might
go duck-shooting to-day, and Uncle Robert merely looked out of the
window. But if anybody, specially you, wanted me to stop, why, of course
I would."

"But I don't," said Michael.

"Thanks awfully. Gosh, look at those ducks! They're just wanting to be
shot. But there it is, then. Certainly Uncle Robert doesn't want me, nor
Aunt Marion. I say, what do they think is the matter with her?"

Michael looked round, then took, rather too late, another pull on his
oars, and the boat gently grated on the pebbly mud at the side of the
landing-place. Francis's question, the good-humoured insouciance of it
grated on his mind in rather similar fashion.

"We don't know yet," he said. "I expect we shall all go back to town in
a couple of days, so that she may see somebody."

Francis jumped out briskly and gracefully, and stood with his hands in
his pockets while Michael pushed off again, and brought the boat into
its shed.

"I do hope it's nothing serious," he said. "She looks quite well,
doesn't she? I daresay it's nothing; but she's been alone, hasn't she,
with Uncle Robert all these weeks. That would give her the hump, too."

Michael felt a sudden spasm of impatience at these elegant and consoling
reflections. But now, in the light of his own increasing maturity, he
saw how hopeless it was to feel Francis's deficiencies, his entire lack
of deep feeling. He was made like that; and if you were fond of anybody
the only possible way of living up to your affection was to attach
yourself to their qualities.

They strolled a little way in silence.

"And why did you tell Uncle Robert about Sylvia Falbe?" asked Francis.
"I can't understand that. For the present, anyhow, she had refused you.
There was nothing to tell him about. If I was fond of a girl like that I
should say nothing about it, if I knew my people would disapprove, until
I had got her."

Michael laughed.

"Oh, yes you would," he said, "if you were to use your own words,
fond of her 'like that.' You couldn't help it. At least, I couldn't.
It's--i