“Because it has no right there, for one thing!” She drew herself a little aside and looked round at him. “You wouldn't put it round a town girl if you were riding with her.” “I shouldn't be riding with her: Girls don't go buggy-riding in town any more,” said Jeff, brutally. “Then I shall know what to do the next time you ask me.” “Oh, they'd go quick enough if I asked them up here in the country. Etiquette don't count with them when they're on a vacation.” “I'm not on a vacation; so it counts with me. Please take your arm away,” said Cynthia. “Oh, all right. But I shouldn't object to your putting your arm around me.” “You will never have the chance.” “Why are you so hard on me, Cynthy?” asked Jeff. “You didn't used to be so.” “People change.” “Do I?” “Not for the better.” Jeff was dumb. She was pleased with her hit, and laughed. But her laugh did not encourage him to put his arm round her again. He let the mare walk on, and left her to resume the conversation at whatever point she would. She made no haste to resume it. At last she said, with sufficient apparent remoteness from the subject they had dropped: “Jeff, I don't know whether you want me to talk about it. But I guess I ought to, even if it isn't my place exactly. I don't think Jackson's very well, this summer.” Jeff faced round toward her. “What makes you think he isn't well?” “He's weaker. Haven't you noticed it?” “Yes, I have noticed that. He's worked down; that's all.” “No, that isn't all. But if you don't think so--” “I want to know what you think, Cynthy,” said Jeff, with the amorous resentment all gone from his voice. “Sometimes folks outside notice the signs more--I don't mean that you're an outsider, as far as we're concerned--” She put by that point. “Father's noticed it, too; and he's with Jackson a good deal.” “I'll look after it. If he isn't so well, he's got to have a doctor. That medium's stuff can't do him any good. Don't you think he ought to have a doctor?” “Oh yes.” “You don't think a doctor can do him much good?” “He ought to have one,” said the girl, noncommittally. “Cynthia, I've noticed that Jackson was weak, too; and it's no use pretending that he's simply worked down. I believe he's worn out. Do you think mother's ever noticed it?” “I don't believe she has.” “It's the one thing I can't very well make up my mind to speak to her about. I don't know what she would do.” He did not say, “If she lost Jackson,” but Cynthia knew he meant that, and they were both silent. “Of course,” he went on, “I know that she places a great deal of dependence upon you, but Jackson's her main stay. He's a good man, and he's a good son. I wish I'd always been half as good.”