Ranching for Sylvia. Harold Bindloss
shows an excellent knowledge of details."
There was a hint of dryness in his tone that escaped George's notice.
"So far as I can make out," he answered, "Dick owned a section of a second-class wheat-land, with a mortgage on the last quarter, some way back from a railroad. The part under cultivation gives a poor crop."
"What would you value the property at?"
George made a rough calculation.
"I expected something of the kind," Herbert told him. "It's all Sylvia has to live upon, and the interest would hardly cover her dressmaker's bills." He looked directly at his cousin. "Of course, it's possible that she will marry again."
"She must never be forced to contemplate it by any dread of poverty,"
George said shortly.
"How is it to be prevented?"
George merely looked thoughtful and a little stern. Getting no answer,
Herbert went on:
"So far as I can see, we have only two courses to choose between. The first is to sell out as soon as we can find a buyer, with unfortunate results if your valuation's right; but the second looks more promising. With immigrants pouring into the country, land's bound to go up, and we ought to get a largely increased price by holding on a while. To do that, I understand, the land should be worked."
"Yes. It could, no doubt, be improved; which would materially add to its value."
"I see one difficulty: the cost of superintendence might eat up most of the profit. Wages are high on the prairie, are they not?"
George assented, and Herbert continued:
"Then a good deal would depend on the man in charge. Apart from the question of his honesty, he would have to take a thorough interest in the farm."
"He would have to think of nothing else, and be willing to work from sunrise until dark," said George. "Successful farming means determined effort in western Canada."
"Could you put your hands upon a suitable person?"
"I'm very doubtful. You don't often meet with a man of the kind we need in search of an engagement at a strictly moderate salary."
"Then it looks as if we must sell out now for enough to provide Sylvia with a pittance."
"That," George said firmly, "is not to be thought of!"
There was a short silence while he pondered, for his legacy had not proved an unmixed blessing. At first he had found idleness irksome, but by degrees he had grown accustomed to it. Though he was still troubled now and then by an idea that he was wasting his time and making a poor use of such abilities as he possessed, it was pleasant to feel that, within certain limits, he could do exactly as he wished. Life in western Canada was strenuous and somewhat primitive; he was conscious of a strong reluctance to resume it; but he could not bear to have Sylvia, who had luxurious tastes, left almost penniless. There was a way in which he could serve her, and he determined to take it. George was steadfast in his devotion, and did not shrink from a sacrifice.
"It strikes me there's only one suitable plan," he said. "I know something about western farming. I wouldn't need a salary; and Sylvia could trust me to look after her interests. I'd better go out and take charge until things are straightened up, or we come across somebody fit for the post."
Herbert heard him with satisfaction. He had desired to lead George up to this decision, and he suspected that Sylvia had made similar efforts. It was not difficult to instil an idea into his cousin's mind.
"Well," he said thoughtfully, "the suggestion seems a good one; though it's rather hard on you, if you really mean to go."
"That's decided," was the brief answer.
"Then, though we can discuss details later, you had better give me legal authority to look after your affairs while you are away. There are those Kaffir shares, for instance; it might be well to part with them if, they go up a point or two."
"I've wondered why you recommended me to buy them," George said bluntly.
Herbert avoided a direct answer. He now and then advised George, who knew little about business, in the management of his property, but his advice was not always disinterested or intended only for his cousin's benefit.
"Oh," he replied, "the cleverest operators now and then make mistakes, and I don't claim exceptional powers of precision. It's remarkably difficult to forecast the tendency of the stock-market."
George nodded, as if satisfied.
"I'll arrange things before I sail, and I'd better get off as soon as possible. Now, suppose we go down and join the others."
CHAPTER II
HIS FRIENDS' OPINION
On the afternoon following his arrival, George stood thoughtfully looking about on his cousin's lawn. Creepers flecked the mellow brick front of the old house with sprays of tender leaves; purple clematis hung from a trellis; and lichens tinted the low terrace wall with subdued coloring. The grass was flanked by tall beeches, rising in masses of bright verdure against a sky of clearest blue; and beyond it, across the sparkling river, smooth meadows ran back to the foot of the hills. It was, in spite of the bright sunshine, all so fresh and cool: a picture that could be enjoyed only in rural England.
George was sensible of the appeal it made to him; now, when he must shortly change such scenes for the wide levels of western Canada, which are covered during most of the year with harsh, gray grass, alternately withered by frost and sun, he felt their charm. It was one thing to run across to Norway on a fishing or mountaineering trip and come back when he wished, but quite another to settle down on the prairie where he must remain until his work should be done. Moreover, for Mrs. Lansing had many friends, the figures scattered about the lawn—young men and women in light summer attire—enhanced the attractiveness of the surroundings. They were nice people, with pleasant English ways; and George contrasted them with the rather grim, aggressive plainsmen among whom he would presently have to live: men who toiled in the heat, half naked, and who would sit down to meals with him in dusty, unwashed clothes. He was not a sybarite, but he preferred the society of Mrs. Lansing's guests.
After a while she beckoned him, and they leaned upon the terrace wall side by side. She was a good-natured, simple woman, with strongly domestic habits and conventional views.
"I'm glad Herbert has got away from business for a few days," she began. "He works too hard, and it's telling on him. How do you think he is looking?"
George knew she was addicted to displaying a needless anxiety about her husband's health. It had struck him that Herbert was getting stouter; but he now remembered having noticed a hint of care in his face.
"The rest will do him good," he said.
Mrs. Lansing's conversation was often disconnected, and she now changed the subject.
"Herbert tells me you are going to Canada. As you're fond of the open air, you will enjoy it."
"I suppose so," George assented rather dubiously.
"Of course, it's very generous, and Sylvia's fortunate in having you to look after things"—Mrs. Lansing paused before adding—"but are you altogether wise in going, George?"
Lansing knew that his hostess loved romance, and sometimes attempted to assist in one, but he would have preferred another topic.
"I don't see what else I could do," he said.
"That's hardly an answer. You will forgive me for speaking plainly, but what I meant was this—your devotion to Sylvia is not a secret."
"I wish it were!" George retorted.