"Never be afraid of me," said Keane, putting his hand on hers as it lay on the arm of his chair. "You have no cause. You can do things few girls can; but they are pretty in you, where they might be--not so pretty in others. _I_ like them at the least. You are very fond of your cousin, are you not?" "Of Sydie? Oh, I love him dearly!" Keane took his hand away, and rose, as the General trotted in: "God bless my soul, Keane, how warm it is! Confoundedly hot without one's hat, I can tell you. Had my walk all for nothing, too. That cursed little idiot wasn't trespassing after all. Stephen had set him to spud out the daisies, and I'd thrashed the boy before I'd listen to him. Devil take him!" August went out and September came in, and Keane stayed on at the Beeches. They were pleasant days to them all, knocking over the partridges right and left, enjoying a cold luncheon under the luxuriant hedges, and going home for a dinner, full of laughter, and talk, and good cookery; and Fay's songs afterwards, as wild and sweet in their way as a goldfinch's on a hawthorn spray. "You like Little Fay, don't you, Keane?" said the General, as they went home one evening. Keane looked startled for a second. "Of course," he said, rather haughtily. "That Miss Morton is very charming every one must admit." "Bless her little heart! She's a wild little filly, Keane, but she'll go better and truer than your quiet broken-in ones, who wear the harness so respectably, and are so wicked and vicious in their own minds. And what do you think of my boy?" asked the General, pointing to Sydie, who was in front. "How does he stand at Cambridge?" "Sydie? Oh, he's a nice young fellow. He is a great favorite there, and he is--the best things he can be--generous, sweet-tempered, and honorable----" "To be sure," echoed the General, rubbing his hands. "He's a dear boy--a very dear boy. They're both exactly all I wished them to be, dear children; and I must say I am delighted to see 'em carrying out the plan I had always made for 'em from their childhood." "Being what, General, may I ask?" "Why, any one can see, as plain as a pikestaff, that they're in love with each other," said the General, glowing with satisfaction; "and I mean them to be married and happy. They dote on each other, Keane, and I sha'n't put any obstacles in their way. Youth's short enough, Heaven knows; let 'em enjoy it, say I, it don't come back again. Don't say anything to him about it; I want to have some fun with him. They've settled it all, of course, long ago; but he hasn't confided in me, the sly dog. Trust an old campaigner, though, for twigging an _affaire de coeur_. Bless them both, they make me feel a boy again. We'll have a gay wedding, Keane; mind you come down for it. I dare say it'll be at Christmas." Keane walked along, drawing his cap over his eyes. The sun was setting full in his face. "Well, what sport?" cried Fay, running up to them. "Pretty fair," said Keane, coldly, as he passed her.