Soon the family came out, and I was received with all the accustomed cordiality, and rather more. Why had I not been near them for so long, especially as I was about to go away for quite a considerable time, and so forth? I began to feel self-reproachful, as I thought of my motive, but it was not easy to find an excuse, the usual “rather busy,” and when I tried I could see Aïda Sewin’s clear eyes reading my face, and there was the faintest glimmer of a smile about her lips that seemed to say plainly: “I don’t believe a word of it.”
“So you’re going to take this fellow with you after all, Glanton,” said the Major as we sat down to lunch. “Well, you’ll have a handful, by Jove you will! I hope you’ll keep him in order, that’s all.”
“Oh he’ll be all right, Major,” I said. “And the experience won’t do him any harm either.”
“Don’t you go trying any more experiments at the expense of the chiefs’ head-rings up there, Falkner,” said Edith, the younger girl.
“Oh shut up,” growled Falkner. “That joke’s a precious stale one. I seem to be getting ‘jam and judicious advice’ all round, by Jove!”
“Well, and you want it—at any rate the advice—only you never take it,” was the retort.
“Nobody ever does, Miss Edith,” I said, coming to his rescue. “Advice is one of those commodities people estimate at its own cost—nothing to wit; and set the same value upon it.”
“Now you’re cynical, Mr Glanton,” she answered, “and I don’t like cynical people.”
“That’s a calamity, but believe me, I’m not naturally so. Why I rather set up for being a philanthropist,” I said.
“You certainly are one, as we have every reason to know,” interposed her sister.