“Oh, yes, in a way, poor little thing! I am sorry for her, and we have always been good friends. She was a merry little soul once, though too cheeky for my taste. Perhaps she will be better of that as she grows older. But she has had no advantages. She has never seen society—as you and I call it—and she shows it in every word and thought. She has no charm about her—that great possession of womanhood—and when one sees her beside somebody who has so large a share, one feels the absence of it more than ever.” Sheila felt Cyril’s eyes upon her, and blushed crimson. She was not used to compliments, yet there was no misunderstanding the meaning of his words. She could not help quivering with a sort of pleasure, yet felt as though it were somehow treachery to her cousin. For that Cyril was Effie’s hero Sheila could not doubt, though she would never exactly admit as much. The cob was selected at last, had up on trial, and finally purchased; and Cyril was to be found at Cossart Place most mornings in the week to take the girls out for a ride. Effie could only go short distances as yet, and her steady cob did not require more exercise than the daily amble. But Shamrock was young and mettlesome, and so was the horse Cyril had hired for his own use; and often, after Effie had dismounted and gone in, the other two would betake themselves for a canter across the park, or a ride on some errand or other, generally of Cyril’s devising. The Cossart cousins had always been on brotherly and sisterly terms, and nobody took exception to this arrangement. Sheila was delighted to get the long breezy canters through the budding lanes or across a stretch of park-land, and Cyril’s companionship was always pleasant. Her little worries seemed to smooth themselves down when he was near; and he had a way of saying flattering things, which, if a little embarrassing sometimes, was rather delightful too. The only thing that Sheila did not quite like or understand was his way of half laughing at Effie behind her back—making out that what he did for her was a kind of duty and treadmill, whilst he was all the while longing to be off with Sheila. Effie did not take this view of matters. To her he professed himself the most devoted of knights. She fully believed that he enjoyed riding beside her more than anything in the world, and he certainly seemed to profess as much. But when off and away with Sheila, he would give her a laughing look, and say— “There, now we can enjoy ourselves. Aren’t we good to be so patient over our task? But it’s worth it, for what we get afterwards. Don’t you find it so too, little cousin?” And then Sheila would feel guilty and uncomfortable, and ask herself if she were being hypocritical. But surely Cyril could not be that, and she quickly drove away the unwelcome misgiving.