‘You are sure to like him,’ said Edgar with a somewhat regretful air. ‘He has all the qualities which please women. Another man might be as handsome, or even handsomer, yet not half so sure of winning a woman’s love. There is something languid, lackadaisical—poetical, I suppose Madoline would call it—in his appearance and manner which women admire.’ ‘I hope he is not effeminate,’ exclaimed Daphne. ‘I hate a womanish man.’ ‘No; I don’t think anyone could call him effeminate; but he is dreamy, bookish, fond of lolling about under trees, smoking cigarettes and reading verses.’ ‘I’m certain I shall detest him,’ said Daphne with conviction, ‘and it will be very dreadful, since I must pretend to like him for Lina’s sake. You must stand by me, Edgar, when he is at the Hill. You and I can chum together, and leave the lovers to spoon by themselves. Oh, by-the-by, of course you haven’t lived on the Avon all your life without being able to row a boat?’ ‘No; I can row pretty well.’ ‘Then you must teach me, please. I am going to have a boat, my very own. It is being built for me. You’ll teach me to row, won’t you, Edgar?’ she asked with a pleading smile. ‘I shall be delighted.’ ‘Thanks tremendously. That will be ever so much better than learning of Bink.’ ‘Indeed! And who is Bink?’ asked Edgar, somewhat dashed. ‘One of the under gardeners. Such an honest creature, and devoted to me.’ ‘I see: and your first idea was to have been taught by Bink?’ ‘If there had been no one else,’ she admitted apologetically. ‘You see, having ordered a boat, it is essential that I should learn to row.’ ‘Naturally.’ They had arrived at the last field by this time. The village lay before them in the sunlight: an old gray church in an old churchyard on the edge of the river, a cluster of half-timbered cottages, with walls of wattle and dab, a homestead dwarfed by rick-yard and barns, and finally the Rectory, a low, many-gabled house, half-timbered, like the cottages, a regular sixteenth-century house, with clustered chimneys of massive ruddy-brown brickwork, finished by a stone coping, in which the martens had built from time immemorial. ‘I can’t tell you how glad I am to have you with me,’ said Daphne as they came near the stile. ‘It will take the edge off my visit.’ ‘Oh, but I did not mean to go in with you. I only walked with you for the pleasure of being your escort.’ ‘Nonsense; you are going in, and you are going to stay till I go home, and you are going back with me to dinner. I’m sure you must owe Aunt Rhoda a call. Just consider now if you don’t.’ Edgar, who had a guilty memory of being a guest at one of the Rector’s rare but admirable dinners, just five weeks ago, blushed as he admitted his indebtedness. ‘I certainly haven’t called since I dined there,’ he said; ‘but the fact is, I don’t get on very fast with your aunt, although I’ve known her so long.’ ‘Of course not. I never knew any one who could get on with her, except Lina, and she’s an angel.’