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

After Giving Grierson A Few Instructions, George Turned Away.  His Work

Was Done; Instead Of Driving Home Through The Sharp Cold Of The Night,

He Was To Spend It Comfortably At The Hotel.

A Week Later, He And West Drove Over To The Grant Homestead And Found

Only Its Owner In The General-Room.  Grant Listened With A Rather

Curious Expression When George Told Him That He Was Starting For

England The Following Day; And Then They Quietly Talked Over The

Arrangements That Had Been Made For Carrying On The Farm Until Edgar's

Return, For George's Future Movements Were Uncertain.  Edgar, However,

Was Sensible Of A Constraint In The Farmer's Manner, Which Was

Presently Felt By George, And The Conversation Was Languishing When

Flora Came In.  Shortly Afterward George Said That They Must Go And

Flora Strolled Toward The Fence With Him While The Team Was Being

Harnessed.

"So You Are Leaving Us To-Morrow And May Not Come Back?" She Said, In

An Indifferent Tone.

"I Can't Tell What I Shall Do Until I Get To England."

Flora Glanced At Him With A Composure That Cost Her An Effort.  She

Supposed His Decision Would Turn Upon Mrs. Marston's Attitude, But She

Knew Sylvia Well, And Had A Suspicion That There Was A Disappointment

In Store For Lansing.  Edgar Had Explained That He Was Not Rich, And He

Was Not The Kind Of Man Sylvia Was Likely To Regard With Favor.

"Well," She Said Lightly, "When I Came In, You Really Didn't Look As

Cheerful As One Might Have Expected.  Are You Sorry You Are Going Away?"

"It's A Good Deal Harder Than I Thought.  The Prairie Seems To Have Got

Hold Of Me; I Have Good Friends Here."

"Haven't You Plenty In England?"

"Acquaintances; Only A Few Friends.  I Can't Help Regretting Those I

Must Leave Behind.  In Fact"--He Spoke Impulsively, Expressing A

Thought That Had Haunted Him--"It Would Be A Relief If I Knew I Should

Come Back Again."

"After All, This Is A Hard Country And We're A Rather Primitive People."

"You're Reliable!  Staunch Friends, Determined Enemies; And Even Among

The Latter I Found A Kind Of Sporting Feeling Which Made It A Little

Easier For One To Forget One's Injuries."  He Glanced At The Prairie

Which Stretched Away, White And Silent, In The Clear Evening Light.

"It's Irrational In A Way, But I'd Be Glad To Feel I Was Going To Work

As Usual To-Morrow."

"I Suppose You Could Do So, If You Really Wanted To," Flora Suggested.

George Turned And Looked Fixedly At Her, While A Mad Idea Crept Into

His Mind.  She Was Very Alluring; He Thought He Knew Her Nature, Which

Was Altogether Wholesome, And It Flashed Upon Him That Many Of The

Excellent Qualities She Possessed Were Lacking In Sylvia.  Then He

Loyally Drove Out The Temptation, Wondering That It Had Assailed Him,

Though He Was Still Clearly Conscious Of His Companion's Attractiveness.

"No," He Said In A Somewhat Strained Voice; "I Hardly Think That's

Possible.  I Must Go Back."

Flora Smiled, Though It Was Difficult.  She Half Believed She Could

Shake The Man's Devotion To Her Rival, But She Was Too Proud To Try.

If He Came To Her, He Must Come Willingly, And Not Because She Had

Exerted Her Utmost Power To Draw Him.

"Well," She Responded, "One Could Consider The Reluctant Way You Spoke

The Last Few Words As Flattering.  I Suppose It's A Compliment To

Canada?"

He Failed To Understand The Light Touch Of Mocking Amusement In Her

Tone; It Had Not Dawned On Him That This Was Her Defense.

"It's A Compliment To The Canadians, Though My Appreciation Can't Be

Worth Very Much.  But I Don't Feel In A Mood To Joke.  In Fact, There's

A Feeling Of Depression Abroad To-Night; Even Your Father Seems

Affected.  I'd Expected A Pleasant Talk With Him, But We Were Very

Dull."

"What Made You Think He Was Less Cheerful Than Usual?"  Flora Cast A

Quick And Rather Startled Glance At Him.

"I Don't Know, But Something Seemed Wrong.  Edgar's The Only One Who

Looks Undisturbed, And If He Talks Much Going Home, He'll Get On My

Nerves."

"It's Hardly Fair To Blame Him For A Depression That's Your Fault,"

Said Flora.  "You Deserve To Feel It, Since You Will Go Away."

Then Edgar Came Up With The Wagon And George Took Flora's Hands.

"I Shall Think Of You Often," He Told Her.  "It Will Always Be With

Pleasure.  Now And Then You Might, Perhaps, Spare A Thought For Me."

"I Think I Can Promise That," Flora Replied Quietly.

Then He Shook Hands With Grant And Got Into The Wagon.  Edgar Cracked

The Whip And The Team Plunged Forward.  With A Violent Jolting And A

Rattle Of Wheels They Left The Farm Behind And Drove Out On To The

Prairie.  Flora Stood Watching Them For A While; And Then Walked Back

To The House In The Gathering Dusk With Her Face Set Hard And A Pain At

Her Heart.

Grant Was Sitting On The Stoop, Filling His Pipe, But When She Joined

Him He Paused In His Occupation And Pointed Toward The Plain.  The

Wagon Was Scarcely Discernible, But A Rhythmic Beat Of Hoofs Still Came

Back Through The Stillness.

"I Like That Man, But He's A Blamed Fool," He Remarked.

Strong Bitterness Was Mingled With The Regret In His Voice, And Flora

Started.  She Was Glad That The Light Was Too Dim For Him To See Her

Clearly.

"I Wonder What Makes You Say That?"

"For One Thing, He Might Have Done Well Here." Flora Suspected That Her

Father Was Not Expressing All He Had Meant.  "He's The Kind Of Man We

Want; And Now He's Going Back To Fool His Life Away, Slouching Round

Playing Games And Talking To Idle People, In The Old Country.  Guess

Some Girl Over There Has Got A Hold On Him."  Then His Indignation

Flamed Out Unchecked.  "I Never Could Stand Those Percy Women, Anyway;

Saw A Bunch Of Them, All Dress And Airs, When I Was Last In Winnipeg.

One Was Standing Outside A Ticket-Office At Portage, Studying The

People Through An Eyeglass On An Ivory Stick, As If They Were Some

Strange Savages, And Making Remarks About Them To Her Friends, Though I

Guess There Isn't A Young Woman In The City With Nerve Enough To Wear

The Clothes She Had On.  It Makes A Sensible Man Mighty Tired To Hear

Those Creatures Talk."

Flora Laughed, Rather Drearily, Though She Guessed With Some Uneasiness

The Cause Of Her Father's Outbreak.  It Appeared Injudicious To Offer

Him Any Encouragement.

"After All, One Must Be Fair," She Said.  "I Met Some Very Nice People

In The Old Country."

He Turned To Her Abruptly.

"Do You Know Who Has Taken Lansing Back?" He Asked.

"I Believe, From Something West Said, It Is Mrs. Marston."

"That Trash!"  Grant's Sharp Cry Expressed Incredulity.  "The Man Can't

Have Any Sense!  He's Going To Be Sorry All The Time If He Gets Her."

Then He Knocked Out His Pipe, As If He Were Too Indignant To Smoke, And

Went Into The House.

It Was A Winter Evening And Sylvia Was Standing Near The Hearth In Mrs.

Kettering's Hall, Where The Lamps Were Burning, Though A Little Pale

Daylight Still Filtered Through The Drizzle Outside.  Sylvia Was Fond

Of Warmth And Brightness, But She Was Alone Except For Ethel West, Who

Sat Writing At A Table In A Recess, Although Her Hostess Had Other

Guests, Including A Few Men Who Were Out Shooting.  After A While Ethel

Looked Up.

"Have You Or Herbert Heard Anything From George During The Last Few

Weeks?" She Asked.

Sylvia Turned Languidly.  Her Thoughts Had Been Fixed On Captain Bland,

Whom She Was Expecting Every Moment.  Indeed, She Was Anxious To Get

Rid Of Ethel Before He Came In.

"No," She Said With Indifference.  "I Think His Last Letter Came A

Month Ago.  It Was Optimistic."

"They Seem To Have Had A Good Harvest From What Edgar Wrote; He Hinted

That He Might Make A Trip Across."

"It's Rather An Expensive Journey."

"That Wouldn't Trouble Edgar, And There's A Reason For The Visit.  He

Has Made Up His Mind To Start Farming And Wants To Talk Over His Plans.

In Fact, He Thinks Of Getting Married."

Sylvia Showed Some Interest.

"To Whom?  Why Didn't You Tell Me Earlier?"

"I Only Arrived This Morning, And I Wrote Some Time Ago, Asking If You

Could Meet Stephen And Me.  You Were With The Graysons Then, But You

Didn't Answer."

"I Forgot; I Don't Always Answer Letters.  But Who Is The Girl?  Not

Miss Grant?"

"Helen Taunton.  Do You Know Her?"

Sylvia Laughed.

"The Storekeeper's Daughter!  She's Passably Good-Looking And Her

Father's Not Badly Off, But That's About All One Could Say For Her."

"Do You Know Anything Against The Girl?"

"Oh, No!" Said Sylvia Languidly.  "She's Quite Respectable--In Fact,

They're