Matters there as regarded Cyril were in abeyance. He was, as he told himself, playing a waiting game. Sage would have a nice bit of money, he knew, and he thought it would be a pity to spoil his prospects by hurried play. Besides, he was in no hurry, for he had the companionship of Frank, and together they went a great deal to the King's Head, where there was an old billiard-table. At other times they drove over to Gatley, where Lord Artingale placed everything he possessed at their service. There was a good billiard-table there, horses, and wine, and cigars to their hearts' content. Then each had a little private business to attend to, about which they made no confidences, and rarely interfered with or joked each other, it being a tacit arrangement that no questions should be asked if Frank was going over to Lewby for a chat with John Berry, or Cyril had made up his mind for a stroll down by the wheelwright's, where there were a few dace to be whipped for in the stream. Spring had come earlier that year, and while Luke Ross thought the Temple gardens and the trees in Grey's Inn poor dejected-looking affairs, down by Lawford everything was looking its best, for Spring's children were hard at work striving to hide the rusty traces of the wintry storms. Early in April the banks and the edges of the woods were, alive with flowers, glossy-leaved celandines showed their golden stars, brightly-varnished arums peered up with their purple-spotted spathes and leaves, the early purple orchids brightened the dark-green here and there. Clusters of soft pale lilac cuckoo-flowers were springing up amongst the clumps of catkin-laden hazels, oak saplings with bark like oxidised silver, and osiers with orange stems and polished silver buds, while every bank and coppice was sprinkled with sulphur yellow where the primroses bloomed. There was mating and marrying going on in feather-land to the blackbird's fluting, and the twittering of many throats, and one soft, warm day, when the east wind had been driven back by a balmy breathing from the west and south, Cynthia made a dash at her sister, and laughingly passed the string of her hat over her head, thrust a basket in her hand, and led her off to gather violets. "Let's be little children once again, Julie," she cried. "I want a rest. It has been nothing but spooning, and nonsense lately with Cyril and the pretty schoolmistress." "Papa has been in sad trouble about it lately, Cynthy," said Julia, thoughtfully. "Yes, but let's hope it is all over now; I think it is." "I don't know," said Julia, thoughtfully. "I think I do," cried Cynthia. "Papa frightened him. But how wonderfully quiet our dear brother Frank is. I hope he is not hatching some mischief." "Don't be uncharitable, Cynthia," said Julia, with a sad smile; "think the best of your brothers." "I do try to, Julie, but I'm afraid I'm not very fond of my brothers." "Cynthia!"