But he was obliged to be a good deal with the others, and incidentally with Miss Trevelyan. He was the last man in the world to fancy that a woman was falling in love with him merely because she always seemed glad to talk with him, and he was inclined to resent the way in which his mother did her best to bring him and Anne together at all times; but when there was a large party he preferred the society of the few whom he knew more or less intimately to the conversation of those whom he rarely met more than three or four times in a year, and had sometimes never met at all--for in London he avoided the crowd as much as he could. The consequence was that, on the present occasion, Anne saw much more of him than when the Trevelyans had been the only people stopping at the house. If he had been wise in the ways of the world he would have known that when a woman has a fancy for a man she talks to him about herself, or himself, and has little to say about any one else; and he would have observed before now that Miss Trevelyan asked questions and led the conversation from general subjects to people. She seemed more interested in his brothers than in him, and particularly in Jocelyn--though she actually treated the latter with more coldness, or less cordiality, than the others. “He has no ambition,” she said to Lionel. “I wish he would go in for ballooning!” Lionel smiled a little. They were strolling along a path on the outskirts of the park, near the Malton road. “I hadn’t associated ballooning with ambition before,” he answered, “but I daresay that if you suggested it as a career, he might take a fancy to it.” “Not much!” answered Miss Anne, in a tone of conviction. “That would be just the way to make him do the opposite.” “I doubt that. But do you mind telling me what the opposite of ballooning would be? Diving, I suppose, wouldn’t it?” “Don’t be horrid! You know what I mean.” Lionel did not know, but she had never before shown so clearly what she thought about Jocelyn’s opinion of her. Lionel was interested, and thought he knew her well enough to ask a direct question. “You like Jocelyn, don’t you?” He looked at her quietly. “Do you mind?” inquired Anne, with a short laugh. “Not a bit. But, as a matter of fact, my mother has got it into her head that it’s your duty to like me.” He laughed too. “You’re a very calm person.” “I didn’t mean to be cheeky,” answered Lionel. “But as we are very good friends, and seem to be expected to fall in love with each other, though we never shall, it’s just as well to be frank, isn’t it?” “Yes. I was only chaffing. You’re quite right.” “Very well. Then you won’t mind if I tell you just what I think. You like Jocelyn, and you are quite sure he does not care for you. Is that it?”