that they held apart from the society which
would have welcomed them, for they could not bear to receive
without offering in turn. The necessity of giving lessons galled
them; they felt—and with every reason—that it made their position
ambiguous. So that, though they could not help knowing many people,
they had no intimates; they encouraged no one to visit them, and
visited other houses as little as might be.
In Marian Yule they divined a sympathetic nature. She was unlike
any girl with whom they had hitherto associated, and it was the
impulse of both to receive her with unusual friendliness. The habit
of reticence could not be at once overcome, and Marian's own
timidity was an obstacle in the way of free intercourse, but
Jasper's conversation at tea helped to smooth the course of
things.
'I wish you lived anywhere near us,' Dora said to their visitor,
as the three girls walked in the garden afterwards, and Maud echoed
the wish.
'It would be very nice,' was Marian's reply. 'I have no friends
of my own age in London.'
'None?'
'Not one!'
She was about to add something, but in the end kept silence.
'You seem to get along with Miss Yule pretty well, after all,'
said Jasper, when the family were alone again.
'Did you anticipate anything else?' Maud asked.
'It seemed doubtful, up at Yule's house. Well, get her to come
here again before I go. But it's a pity she doesn't play the
piano,' he added, musingly.
For two days nothing was seen of the Yules. Jasper went each
afternoon to the stream in the valley, but did not again meet
Marian. In the meanwhile he was growing restless. A fortnight
always exhausted his capacity for enjoying the companionship of his
mother and sisters, and this time he seemed anxious to get to the
end of his holiday. For all that, there was no continuance of the
domestic bickering which had begun. Whatever the reason, Maud
behaved with unusual mildness to her brother, and Jasper in turn
was gently disposed to both the girls.
On the morning of the third day—it was Saturday—he kept silence
through breakfast, and just as all were about to rise from the
table, he made a sudden announcement:
'I shall go to London this afternoon.'
'This afternoon?' all exclaimed. 'But Monday is your day.'
'No, I shall go this afternoon, by the 2.45.'
And he left the room. Mrs Milvain and the girls exchanged
looks.
'I suppose he thinks the Sunday will be too wearisome,' said the
mother.
'Perhaps so,' Maud agreed, carelessly.
Half an hour later, just as Dora was ready to leave the house
for her engagements in Wattleborough, her brother came into the
hall and took his hat, saying:
'I'll walk a little way with you, if you don't mind.'
When they were in the road, he asked her in an offhand
manner:
'Do you think I ought to say good-bye to the Yules? Or won't it
signify?'
'I should have thought you would wish to.'
'I don't care about it. And, you see, there's been no hint of a
wish on their part that I should see them in London. No, I'll just
leave you to say good-bye for me.'
'But they expect to see us to-day or to-morrow. You told them
you were not going till Monday, and you don't know but Mr Yule
might mean to say something yet.'
'Well, I had rather he didn't,' replied Jasper, with a
laugh.
'Oh, indeed?'
'I don't mind telling you,' he laughed again. 'I'm afraid of
that girl. No, it won't do! You understand that I'm a practical
man, and I shall keep clear of dangers. These days of holiday
idleness put all sorts of nonsense into one's head.'
Dora kept her eyes down, and smiled ambiguously.
'You must act as you think fit,' she remarked at length.
'Exactly. Now I'll turn back. You'll be with us at dinner?'
They parted. But Jasper did not keep to the straight way home.
First of all, he loitered to watch a reaping-machine at work; then
he turned into a lane which led up the hill on which was John
Yule's house. Even if he had purposed making a farewell call, it
was still far too early; all he wanted to do