Piers Rendall often walked over to the Cottage to spend some hours of the day with his friends, and, strange as it might appear, the two young men seemed mutually attracted to each other. Vanna believing them both to be in love with the same girl, was constantly watching for signs of jealousy and irritation, but none appeared. If Piers was occasionally somewhat silent and distrait, the fact did not interfere with his transparent enjoyment of Gloucester’s company; while Robert himself seemed to take a positive pride and pleasure in the knowledge of the other’s devotion.
“He admires her desperately, doesn’t he? Every one does. There are dozens of fellows head over heels in love with her, I suppose. Scores! She must be kept busy refusing them, poor fellows! Hard lines for a girl, especially when she is so sweet and sensitive, and sympathetic, and—”
Vanna threw up her hand with a comical little grimace of appeal.
“That’s enough, that’s enough! Three adjectives are quite a good allowance for one sentence. Spare me the rest. Miss Goring has a charming disposition, and she is duly appreciated. That’s settled. Now we’ll talk of something else. How did the fishing go this morning? A good haul?”
They looked at each other and laughed with mischievous enjoyment. Each time they found themselves alone the same thing happened. Gloucester persistently endeavoured to talk about Jean; Vanna as persistently turned the subject. On both sides the contest was conducted with absolute good humour. It was as amusing as a game, in which each tried to outwit the other, to set for him an unconscious trap and pitfall.
To-day they walked along the country lanes, Jean and Piers Rendall ahead, Miggles bringing up the rear, with a schoolboy hanging on each arm. These two lads, Jack and Pat, adored the old woman who had been their confidante and mentor from their earliest years, and there was literally no end to the sympathetic interest which she bestowed upon them. Father and mother might weary of eternal cricket and sixth-form reminiscences, and impatiently suggest bed or a book. Jean might, and did, wax frankly cross and bored, but Miggles never failed to produce a due display of surprise; never denied the expected admiration, nor shirked a question which gave the conversation a new turn of life. At this moment Vanna could hear Pat’s voice reeling off the everlasting details:
“Smith, major, was bowling his hardest—he’s a terror to bowl—and the pitch was fast, and a ball got up, and got me on the shoulder—”
“Dear, dear, think of that! And you went on playing? You are brave! And made a fine score too, I’ll be bound!”
How much of Miggles’s happiness did she owe to this blessed capacity for sympathy in the interests of others?
The destination of this afternoon’s walk was a little wood lying about a mile inland, and as a short cut across country, Jean and Piers led the way through a farmyard, and thence on to a winding lane, sunk deep between two hedgerows, fragrant with honeysuckle and wild rose. To right and left lay the fields belonging to the farm; pleasant fields of wheat and corn, of delicate, green-eared barley, of sweet-smelling beans.