As autumn sped on Brenda was not very ardent in following up the Mansion work. But what a perfect autumn it was! How bracing the air! How much more delightful to spend the daylight hours in long rides out over the bridle-path, along the broad boulevard, or in the narrower byways of the suburbs. Sometimes, instead of riding, Arthur and Brenda would walk even as far as the reservoir and back. One afternoon in late November they had circled the lovely sheet of water that lies embosomed among the hills of Brookline, and, waiting for a car, had sat down on a wayside seat. "Except for the bare trees it's hard to believe that this is November," Brenda had said. "Yes," responded Arthur. "Days like this almost redeem the bad character of the New England climate." "Oh, Arthur, there isn't a better all-round climate anywhere." "After a winter in California, I should think that you'd know better than that." [Illustration: Waiting for a car they had sat down on a wayside seat] The argument went a little further, and Brenda made out her case very well, quoting the surprise of Californians and Southerners, who had come to Boston expecting an Arctic winter, to find only an occasional frigid day. "Those must have been exceptional winters;" and Arthur shrugged his shoulders in a way that always provoked Brenda as he concluded, "Say what you will, it is always a vile winter climate." "Then I'm sure," retorted Brenda, "I don't see why you plan to spend the winter here." "Oh, indeed! I fancied that you knew the reason." Taking no notice of this pacific remark, Brenda continued: "Yes, if I were you I wouldn't stay in so dreadful a place; you certainly have no important business to keep you. Why, papa said--" She did not finish the sentence. Arthur frowned ominously, and he abruptly signalled a car just coming in sight. Brenda hardly understood why Arthur was so silent on the way home. She did not realize that her allusion to her father had annoyed him. Arthur knew that Mr. Barlow did not altogether approve of his lack of a profession. After completing his studies he had not wished to practise law. A slight impediment in his speech was likely to prevent his being a good pleader, and the opportunity that he desired for office practice had not yet offered. His personal income was just enough to permit him to drift without a settled profession. There was danger that he might learn to prefer a life of idleness to one in which work had the larger part. Yet Arthur's intentions were the best in the world. He really was only waiting for the right thing to present itself, and although Brenda had not quoted her father's words, his imagination had flown ahead of what she had said, and he was angry at the implied criticism. "No, I can't come in," he said, as he left Brenda at her door. "I have an engagement." "Oh, what--"