The
whole week, since Monday, had been most beautiful--calm, warm, lovely.
Percival Elster, in his rather idle fashion, was not going to join in the
contest: there were enough without him, he said.
He was standing now, talking to Anne. His face wore a sad expression,
as she glanced up at him from beneath the white feather of her rather
large-brimmed straw hat. Anne had been a great deal at Hartledon that
week, and was as interested in the race as any of them, wearing Lord
Hartledon's colours.
"How did you hear it, Anne?" he was asking.
"Mamma told me. She came into my room just now, and said there had been
words."
"Well, it's true. The doctor took me to task exactly as he used to do
when I was a boy. He said my course of life was sinful; and I rather
fired up at that. Idle and useless it may be, but sinful it is not:
and I said so. He explained that he meant that, and persisted in his
assertion--that an idle, aimless, profitless life was a sinful one. Do
you know the rest?"
"No," she faltered.
"He said he would give me to the end of the year. And if I were then
still pursuing my present frivolous course of life, doing no good to
myself or to anyone else, he should cancel the engagement. My darling,
I see how this pains you."
She was suppressing her tears with difficulty. "Papa will be sure to keep
his word, Percival. He is so resolute when he thinks he is right.
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