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Updated: June 19, 2025
I care a great deal for that boy " "So do I. I've made him take my dog." There was an abrupt pause, and presently Mrs. Ferrall began to laugh. "I mean it really," said Sylvia quietly; "I like him immensely." "Dearest, you mean it generously with your usual exaggeration.
"It would be a sensible match, if she cared to risk it, and if he would only ask her. But he won't." "Perhaps," ventured Sylvia, "she'll ask him. She strikes me as that sort. I do not mean it unkindly only Marion is so tailor-made and cigaretteful " Mrs. Ferrall looked up at her. "Did he propose to you?" "Yes I think so." "Then it's the first time for him.
The younger girl sat wide-eyed, silent; the elder's gaze was upon her, but her thoughts, remote, centred on the hapless mother of such a son. "Such indulgence was once fashionable; moderation is the present fashion. Perhaps he will fall into line," said Mrs. Ferrall thoughtfully. "The main thing is to keep him among people, not to drop him.
"It's had one effect already," replied Fleetwood, as Plank came up, ready for the street. "Ferrall says he looks sick, and Belwether says he's going to the devil; but that's the sort of thing the major is likely to say. By the way, wasn't there something between that pretty Landis girl and Siward? Somebody some damned gossiping somebody talked about it somewhere, recently."
"Why not?" retorted Sylvia, turning red. "Do you think he found me over-willing, as you say he finds others?" "You were probably a new sensation for him," inferred Mrs. Ferrall musingly. "You mustn't take him seriously, child a man with his record.
The raw groom, much embarrassed, and keeping his feet with difficulty against the plunging dog, turned toward the gravel drive where now only a steam motor and a depot-wagon remained. As they looked the motor steamed out, honking hoarsely; the depot-wagon followed, leaving the circle at the end of the station empty of vehicles. "Didn't Mr. Ferrall expect me?" asked Siward.
In Sylvia's boudoir Grace Ferrall and Agatha Caithness sat before the fire; Sylvia, at the mirror of her dresser, was correcting the pallor incident to the unbroken dissipation of a brilliant season; Marion, with her inevitable cigarette, wandered between Sylvia's quarters and the library, where Quarrier and Major Belwether were sitting in low-voiced confab.
Eileen presented her pretty shoulder, Rena nearly yawned at them, but, nothing dampened, they recounted a number of incidents with reciprocal enthusiasm to Sylvia, who was too inattentive to smile, and to Grace Ferrall, who smiled the more sweetly through sheer inattention.
It was plain enough that he had not expected to meet Siward at Shotover House. Kemp Ferrall, a dark, stocky, active man of forty, was in the act of draining a glass, when, though the bottom he caught sight of Siward. He finished in a gulp, and advanced, one muscular hand outstretched: "Hello, Stephen! Heard you'd arrived, tried the Scotch, and bolted with Sylvia Landis!
"As for love, I think I should be moderate in the asking, in the giving. A little to flavour routine would be sufficient for me I fancy." "You know so much about it," observed Mrs. Ferrall ironically. "I am permitted to speculate, am I not?" "Certainly. Only speculate in sound investments, dear." "How can you make a sound investment in love? Isn't it always sheerest speculation?"
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