Stuart laughed a little constrainedly. He was thinking of his picnic for next Wednesday, and wondering whether he could induce his cousin to be kind to Margery. His mother, for some unaccountable reason, did not appear to like Margery.
“We must get a native of Hurstley to act as cicerone,” he responded, breaking off a leaf from sheer wantonness. “I have been away so long, I have almost forgotten my home.”
“What are you going to do, now you are back?”
“Nothing—that is, nothing definite. You see, my father is very shaky, and I must relieve him of some of his duties. My mother has a strong wish that I should stand for Chesterham.”
“A parliamentary career?” questioned Vane. “How would you like that?”
“Not at all,” Stuart answered, frankly. “Legislation is not my forte. I am, if anything, a sportsman.”
“English to the backbone! Cousin Stuart, I am disposed to like you.”
“Is that true?” Stuart asked, gravely.
Vane turned and met his gaze, then laughed softly.
“True? Of course it is; are we not cousins? The liking, however, must not be altogether on my side.”