Ranching For Sylvia Volume-554 by Harold Bindloss (chrome ebook reader .TXT) 📕

Cool In The Shadow Of The Big Copper Beech.  A Neighboring Border

Glowed With Autumn Flowers: Ribands Of Asters, Spikes Of Crimson

Gladiolus, Ranks Of Dahlias.  Across The Lawn A Virginia Creeper Draped

The House With Vivid Tints.  The Scene Had Nothing Of The Grim Bareness

Of The Western Prairie Of Which Sylvia Was Languidly Thinking; Her

Surroundings Shone With Strong Color, And Beyond Them A Peaceful

English Landscape Stretched Away.  She Could Look Out Upon

Heavily-Massed Trees, Yellow Fields With Sheaves In Them, And The

Winding Streak Of A Flashing River.

Yet Sylvia Was Far From Satisfied.  The Valley Was Getting Dull; She

Needed Distraction, And Her Letters Suggested Both The Means Of Getting

It And A Difficulty.  She Wore Black, But It Had An Artistic, Almost

Coquettish, Effect, And The Big Hat Became Her Well, In Spite Of Its

Simple Trimming.  Sylvia Bestowed A Good Deal Of Thought Upon Her

Appearance.

After A While Mrs. Lansing Came Out And Joined Her.

"Is There Any News In Your Letters?" She Asked.

"Yes," Answered Sylvia; "There's One From George--It's A Little

Disappointing, But You Can Read It.  As Usual, He's Laconic."

George's Curtness Was Accounted For By The Fact That He Had Been Afraid

Of Saying Too Much, But Sylvia Carelessly Handed The Letter To Her

Companion.

"After All, He Shows A Nice Feeling," Mrs. Lansing Remarked.  "He Seems

To Regret Very Much His Inability To Send You A Larger Check."

"So Do I," Said Sylvia With A Petulant Air.

"He Points Out That It Has Been A Bad Season And He Has Lost His Crop."

"Bad Seasons Are Common In Western Canada; I've Met Farmers Who Seemed

To Thrive On Them."

"No Doubt They Didn't Do So All At Once."

"I Dare Say That's True," Sylvia Agreed.  "It's Very Likely That If I

Give Him Plenty Of Time, George Will Get Everything Right--He's One Of

The Plodding, Persistent People Who Generally Succeed In The End--But

What Use Will There Be In That?  I'm Not Growing Younger--I Want Some

Enjoyment Now!"  She Spread Out Her Hands With A Gesture That Appealed

For Sympathy.  "One Gets So Tired Of Petty Economy And Self-Denial."

"But George And Herbert Arranged That You Should Have A Sufficient

Allowance."

"Sufficient," Said Sylvia, "Is A Purely Relative Term.  So Much Depends

Upon One's Temperament, Doesn't It?  Perhaps I Am A Little Extravagant,

And That's Why I'm Disappointed."

"After All, You Have Very Few Necessary Expenses."

Sylvia Laughed.

"It's Having Only The Necessary Ones That Makes It So Dull.  Now, I've

Thought Of Going To Stay A While With Susan Kettering; There's A Letter

From Her, Asking When I'll Come."

Mrs. Lansing Was A Lady Of Strict Conventional Views, And She Showed

Some Disapproval.

"But You Can Hardly Make Visits Yet!"

"I Don't See Why I Can't Visit Susan.  She's A Relative, And It Isn't

As If She Were Entertaining A Number Of People.  She Says She's Very

Quiet; She Has Hardly Asked Anybody, Only One Or Two Intimate Friends."

"She'll Have Three Or Four Men Down For The Partridge Shooting."

"After All," Said Sylvia, "I Can't Make Her Send Them Away.  You Have

Once Or Twice Had Men From Town Here."

"Susan Leads A Very Different Life From Mine," Mrs. Lansing Persisted.

"She's A Little Too Fond Of Amusement, And I Don't Approve Of All Her

Friends."  She Paused As An Idea Struck Her.  "Is Captain Bland Going

There For The Shooting?"

"I Really Can't Tell You.  Is There Any Reason Why She Shouldn't Invite

Him?"

Mrs. Lansing Would Have Preferred That Sylvia Should Not See So Much Of

Bland As She Was Likely To Do If She Stayed In The Same House With Him,

Though She Knew Of Nothing In Particular To His Discredit.  He Had

Served Without Distinction In Two Campaigns, He Lived Extravagantly,

And Was Supposed To Be Something Of A Philanderer.  Indeed, Not Long

Ago, An Announcement Of His Engagement To A Lady Of Station Had Been

Confidently Expected; But The Affair Had, For Some Unknown Reason,

Suddenly Fallen Through.  Mrs. Lansing Was Puzzled About Him.  If The

Man Were Looking For A Wealthy Wife, Why Should He Be Attracted, As She

Thought He Was, By Sylvia, Who Had Practically Nothing.

"I'd Really Rather Have You Remain With Us; But Of Course I Can't

Object To Your Going," She Said.

"I Knew You Would Be Nice About It," Sylvia Exclaimed.  "I Must Have A

Talk With Herbert; You Said He Would Be Home This Evening."

Lansing's Business Occasionally Prevented His Nightly Return From The

Nearest Large Town, But He Arrived Some Hours Later, And After Dinner

Sylvia Found Him In His Smoking-Room.  He Looked Up With A Smile When

She Came In, For Their Relations Were Generally Pleasant.  They

Understood Each Other, Though This Did Not Lead To Mutual Confidence Or

Respect.

"Well?" He Said.

Sylvia Sat Down In An Easy Chair, Adopting, As She Invariably Did, A

Becoming Pose, And Handed Him George's Letter.

"He Hasn't Sent You Very Much," Herbert Remarked.

"No," Said Sylvia, "That's The Difficulty."

"So I Anticipated.  You're Not Economical."

Sylvia Laughed.

"I Won't Remind You Of Your Failings.  You Have One Virtue--You Can Be

Liberal When It Suits You; And You're My Trustee."

Lansing's Rather Fleshy, Smooth-Shaven Face Grew Thoughtful, But Sylvia

Continued:

"I'm Going To Susan's, And I Really Need A Lot Of New Clothes."

"For A Week Or Two's Visit?"

"I May, Perhaps, Go On Somewhere Else Afterward."

"I Wonder Whether You Thought It Necessary To Tell Muriel So?"

Sylvia Sighed.

"I'm Afraid I Didn't.  I Can Hardly Expect Muriel To Quite Understand

Or Sympathize.  She Has You, And The Flowers She's So Fond Of, And

Quiet Friends Of The Kind She Likes; While It's So Different With Me.

Besides, I Was Never Meant For Retirement."

"That," Laughed Lansing, "Is Very True."

"Of Course," Sylvia Went On; "I Shall Be Very Quiet, But There Are

Things One Really Has To Take Part In."

"Bridge Is Expensive Unless You're Unusually Lucky, Or An Excellent

Player," Lansing Suggested.  "However, It Would Be More To The Purpose

If You Mentioned What Is The Least You Could Manage With."

Sylvia Told Him, And He Knit His Brows.

"Money's Tight With Me Just Now," He Objected.

"You Know It's Only On Account.  George Will Do Ever So Much Better

Next Year; And I Dare Say, If I Pressed Him, He Would Send Another

Remittance."

"His Letter Indicates That He'd Find It Difficult."

"George Wouldn't Mind That.  He Rather Likes Doing Things That Are

Hard, And It's Comforting To Think That Self-Denial Doesn't Cost Him

Much.  I'm Thankful I Have Him To Look After The Farm."

Lansing Regarded Her With Ironical Amusement; He Knew What Her

Gratitude 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 Dick; 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