"Looks go for nothing," returned George.
"Is your harvest nearly in?"
"If this fine weather only lasts four or five days longer, it will be all in. We have had a glorious harvest this year. I hope every one's as thankful as I am."
"You have some especial cause for thankfulness?" she observed.
"I have."
She had spoken lightly, and was struck by the strangely earnest answer. George could have said that but for that harvest they might not quite so soon have discharged her father's debt.
"When shall you hold your harvest home?"
"Next Thursday; this day week," replied George. "Will you come to it?"
"Thank you," said Octave. "Yes, I will."
Had it been to save his life, George Ryle could not have helped the surprise in his eyes, as he turned them on Octave Chattaway. He had asked the question in the careless gaiety of the moment; really not intending it as an invitation. Had he proffered it in all earnestness, he never would have supposed it one to be accepted by Octave. Mr. Chattaway's family were not in the habit of visiting at Trevlyn Farm.