"I shall have to appeal to General Villiers," she murmured. "He has more influence over the girl than I have. So very wilful and obstinate! It is most melancholy. But she will listen to General Villiers, because he was her father's friend; and he will not approve of such conduct. I must certainly speak to him. He is almost sure to look in by-and-by." This was true. General Villiers had taken to "looking in" on most days: and undoubtedly he had a strong influence over Evelyn. Sybella thought him most kind and fatherly to the child: only perhaps a little too ready to show how very pretty he thought her. Sometimes it struck Sybella that he came to the house rather often, all things considered. There were a good many arrangements to be made, and he had constituted himself general adviser and helper: but still—! Now and again this thought would recur, bringing a blush with it. Could he mean anything particular? General Villiers was only about fifty-five in age, and except for his grey hairs, he did not look so much. He was handsome and gentlemanly; a person of good standing and of considerable wealth. His antecedents were irreproachable. Sybella herself was barely forty. Fifteen years of difference on the right side! What could be more suitable? Some such ideas floated vaguely through her mind, as she came indoors and sat down. She was not in the least in love with General Villiers; but she was quite ready to fancy herself so, if desirable; and she felt that matters began to look suspicious. That poor dear man might well feel lonely at Dutton Park, with no companion. Sybella woke up at the sound of an "Auntie darling!" to find Cyril by her side. "Auntie darling, may I go out?" He systematically addressed her thus—to the delight of Sybella, but not at all to the delight of Evelyn. The iteration was apt to grow tiresome. "Yes, my pet. But you must put on your overshoes, and your coat and necktie. The wind is east." "Yes, auntie darling." "And don't go on the grass, or sit down anywhere." "No, auntie darling." "You are pale, my sweet. Not a headache, I hope?" Cyril had to consider. "Just a little wee one, auntie darling." "Then you must not play in the sun. Walk in the shade; and mind you don't run fast so as to get too hot." "No, auntie darling." "If you see Evelyn, don't let her excite you. And if the headache doesn't go soon, you must come in and lie down. Something must have disagreed with you yesterday. Perhaps it was the baked apple. I think you had better have only broth to-day for dinner—and just a little dry toast." "Yes, auntie darling." Cyril obeyed the various directions given, so long as he remembered them. He crept about in the shade, like a venerable invalid, till near the river. By that time the fresh air, acting upon so much of a boyish nature as had been allowed to develop in him, overcame the cultivated languor, and he began to run. A bright idea sprang up, and Sybella's cautions vanished.