Ranching for Sylvia Part 26

"To Mrs. Marston? She's generally considered entertaining."

Bland looked at her with a smile. He liked Ethel West. She was blunt, without being tactless, and her conversation was sometimes piquant.

Moreover, he remembered that Ethel and Sylvia were old acquaintances.

"I find her so," he said. "Though she has obviously had trouble, she's very bright. It's a sign of courage."

"In Sylvia Marston's case, it's largely a reaction. She spent what she regards as two harrowing years in Canada."

"After all, Canada doesn't seem to be a bad place," said Bland. "Two of my friends, who left the Service, went out to take up land and they evidently like it. They got lots of shooting, and they've started a pack of hounds."

Ethel considered. She could have told him that Sylvia's husband had gone out to make a living, and had not been in a position to indulge in costly amus.e.m.e.nts, but this did not appear advisable.

"I don't think Marston got a great deal of sport," she said. "He had too much to do."

"A big place to look after? I understand it's wise to buy up all the land you can."

Ethel's idea of the man's views in respect to Sylvia was confirmed. He was obviously giving her a lead and she followed it, though she did not intend to enlighten him.

"Yes," she answered; "that's the opinion of my brother, who's farming there. He says values are bound to go up as the new railroads are built, and Marston had a good deal of land. Sylvia is prudently keeping every acre and farming as much as possible."

She saw this was satisfactory to Bland, and she had no hesitation in letting him conclude what he liked from it. It was not her part to caution him, and it was possible that if no other suitor appeared, Sylvia might fall back on George, which was a risk that must be avoided at any cost. Ethel did not expect to gain anything for herself; she knew that George had never had any love for her; but she was determined that he should not fall into Sylvia's hands. He was too fine a man, in many ways, to be thus sacrificed.

"But how can Mrs. Marston carry on the farm?" Bland inquired.

"I should have said her trustees are doing so," Ethel answered carelessly. "One of them went out to look into things not long ago."

Then she moved away and left Bland with one difficulty that had troubled him removed.

CHAPTER XIV

BLAND GETS ENTANGLED

When Mrs. Kettering heard of Sylvia's intention to attend the gymkana, she gave her consent, and said that, as she had an invitation, she would make up a party to go. This was not what Bland required. It was, however, a four-seated car that he had been promised the use of; and counting Sylvia and himself and the driver, there was only one place left. While he was wondering to whom it would be best to offer it, Sylvia thought of Ethel West, who had announced that she would not attend the function. By making a short round, they could pa.s.s through a market town of some importance.

"You mentioned that you wished to buy some things; why not come with us?" she said to Ethel. "We could drop you going out and call for you coming home. Susan will have the big car full, so she couldn't take you, and it's a long drive to the station and the trains run awkwardly."

Sylvia's motive was easy to discern, but Ethel agreed. She was, on the whole, inclined to pity Captain Bland; but he was a stranger and George was a friend. If Sylvia must choose between them, it would be much better that she should take the soldier. For all that, Ethel had an uncomfortable feeling that she was a.s.sisting in a piece of treachery when she set off soon after lunch on a fine autumn day; and the car had gone several miles before she began to enjoy the ride.

For a while the straight white road, climbing steadily, crossed a waste of moors. The dry gra.s.s gleamed gray and silver among the russet fern; rounded, white-edged clouds floated, scarcely moving, in a sky of softest blue. The upland air was gloriously fresh, and the speed exhilarating.

By and by they ran down into a narrow dale in the depths of which a river brawled among the stones, and climbed a long ascent, from which they could see a moving dust-cloud indicating that Mrs. Kettering's car was only a mile or two behind. After that there was a league of brown heath, and then they sped down to a wide, wooded valley, in the midst of which rose the gray walls of an ancient town. On reaching it, Ethel alighted in the market-square, hard by the lofty abbey, and turned to Bland.

"I have one or two calls to make after I've finished shopping, but if it takes longer than I expected or you can't get here in time, I'll go back by train," she said. "In that case, you must bring me home from the station."

Bland promised, and Ethel watched the car with a curious expression until it vanished under a time-worn archway. She was vexed with herself for playing into Sylvia's hands, though she had only done so in what she regarded as George's interest. If Sylvia married Bland, the blow would no doubt be a heavy one to George, but it would be better for him in the end.

In the meanwhile, the car sped on up the valley until it reached an ancient house built on to a great square tower, where Bland was welcomed by a lady of high importance in the district. Afterward he was familiarly greeted by several of her guests, which Sylvia, who had strong ambitions, duly noticed; these people occupied a different station from the one in which she had hitherto moved. When Bland was called away from her, she was shown to a place at some distance from Mrs. Kettering's party, and she sat down and looked about with interest. From the smooth lawn and still glowing borders before the old gray house, a meadow ran down to the river that wandered, gleaming, through the valley, and beyond it the brown moors cut against the clear blue sky. In the meadow, a large, oval s.p.a.ce was lined with groups of smartly-dressed people, and in its midst rose trim pavilions outside which grooms stood holding beautiful glossy horses. Everything was prettily arranged; the scene, with its air of gayety, appealed to Sylvia, and she enjoyed it keenly, though she was now and then conscious of her somber attire.

Then the entertainment began, and she admitted that Bland, finely-mounted, was admirable. He took his part in several compet.i.tions, and through them all displayed a genial good-humor and easy physical grace. He had for the most part younger men as antagonists, but Sylvia thought that none of them could compare with him in manner or bearing.

After a while Sylvia noticed with a start of surprise and annoyance that Herbert Lansing was strolling toward her. He took an unoccupied chair at her side.

"What brought you here?" she asked.

"That," he said, "is easily explained. I got a kind of circular of invitation, and as I've had dealings with one or two of these people, I thought it advisable to make an appearance and pay my half-guinea.

Then there's a man I want a talk with, and I find that the atmosphere of an office has often a deterrent effect on those unused to it. But I didn't expect to find you here."

"Susan and some of the others have come; I've no doubt you'll meet her."

The explanation appeared adequate on the face of it, but a moment later Herbert glanced at Bland, who was dexterously controlling his restive horse.

"The man looks well in the saddle, doesn't he?" he said.

"Yes," a.s.sented Sylvia in an indifferent tone, though she was slightly disturbed. Herbert was keen-witted, and she would rather not have had him take an interest in her affairs.

"I'm inclined to think it's fortunate I didn't bring Muriel," he resumed with a smile. "She's rather conventional, and has stricter views than seem to be general nowadays."

"I can't see why I should remain in complete seclusion; it's an irrational idea. But I've no intention of concealing anything I think fit to do."

"Of course not. Are you going to mention that you attended this entertainment when you write to Muriel?"

Sylvia pondered her reply. In spite of its dullness, Mrs. Lansing's house was a comfortable and secure retreat. She would have to go back to it presently, and it was desirable that she should avoid any cause of disagreement with her hostess.

"No," she said candidly; "I don't see any need for that; and I may not write for some time. Of course, Muriel doesn't quite look at things as I do, and on one or two points she's unusually sensitive."

Herbert looked amused.

"You're considerate; and I dare say you're right. There doesn't seem to be any reason why Muriel should concern herself about the thing, particularly as you're in Susan's hands."

The implied promise that he would not mention his having seen her afforded Sylvia some relief, but when he went away to speak to Mrs.

Kettering, she wished she had not met him. Herbert was troubled by none of his wife's prejudices, but on another occasion he had made her feel that she owed him something for which he might expect some return, and now the impression was more marked; their secret, though of no importance, had strengthened his position. Herbert seldom granted a favor without an end in view; and she did not wish him to get too firm a hold on her. The feeling, however, wore off, and she had spent a pleasant afternoon when Bland came for her as the shadows lengthened.

He reminded her of Ethel:

"We'll have to get off, if we're to pick up Miss West."

Sylvia said that she was ready, though she felt it would have been more satisfactory had Ethel been allowed to go back by train. They began the journey, but after a few miles the car stopped on a steep rise.

The driver with some trouble started the engine, but soon after they had crossed the crest of the hill it stopped again, and he looked grave as he supplied Bland with some details that Sylvia found unintelligible.

"You must get her along another mile; then you can go back on a bicycle for what you want," Bland told him, and turned to Sylvia. "We'll be delayed for an hour or so, but he can leave word for Miss West, and there's an inn not far off where they'll give us tea while we're waiting."

They reached it after turning into another road, though the car made alarming noises during the journey. Sylvia viewed the old building with appreciation. It stood, long and low and cleanly white-washed, on the brink of a deep ghyll filled with lichened boulders and russet ferns, with a firwood close behind it, and in front a wide vista of moors and fells that stood out darkly blue against the evening light.

Near the stone porch, a rustic table stood beside a row of tall red hollyhocks.

"It's a charming spot," Sylvia exclaimed. "Can't we have tea outside?"