It was a lovely July afternoon when Malcolm Herrick and his friend arrived at Earlsfield. A smart dog-cart, Cedric's own especial property, was waiting for them at the station. As they mounted to their places, and Cedric took the reins from the groom, he pointed out the good points of the mare with an air of complacency and satisfaction that somewhat amused Malcolm; but the next moment he said in a boyish manner, "You see, Herrick, I have not got quite used to my new toy. My sisters gave me the trap on my last birthday. I have had Brown Becky for two years. She is good for either driving or riding; but I dropped a hint once, in Dinah's hearing, that I longed for a dog-cart, and though she said nothing at the time, she and Elizabeth put their heads together, and they got Mr. Brodrick, a neighbour of ours, to choose it." "Your sisters are very good to you," observed Malcolm in rather a patronising manner. He even smiled to himself furtively at the thought of the two gentle spinsters. "A good-looking boy like Cedric is always spoilt by his womankind," he said to himself. "If I ever get on intimate terms with them, which is very unlikely, I shall tell them that all this petting and spoiling is not good for the lad, and will only unfit him for his work in life. Women have no sense of proportion," he continued rather irritably; "they either do too much or too little, and the Misses Templeton seem to be no exceptions to the rule." They had left Earlsfield behind them, and were now climbing the long, winding ascent that led to Staplegrove. As the road grew steeper, Brown Becky slackened her pace. The heavy storms had tempered the great heat, and though the sky was cloudless and the sunshine brilliant, the trees meeting overhead gave them a pleasant shade, and a soft, refreshing breeze blew in their faces. Malcolm drew a long breath of delight. "There is nothing like the country after all," he observed. "When I have made my pile, I shall pitch my tent or build myself a hut far from the madding crowd, and bid good-bye to Lincoln's Inn, and Piccadilly, and club-land, and all the delights of modern civilisation." "Not you, old fellow," returned Cedric sagaciously. "Why, you would be bored to death in no time." But Malcolm shook his head. "Am I not a lover of the picturesque, my dear boy? Nature intended me for a country gentleman." Malcolm so dearly loved argument for its own sake that he did not always consider it necessary to weigh the accurate truth of his words. He liked to take different views of the same subject. On more than one occasion in Cedric's hearing he had compared himself with Charles Lamb.