was the way they felt, he reckoned he'd jolly well better shut up about
it.

But whatever it was that they didn't like about him, they most certainly
did want him to have a good time. He and his pleasure appeared to be for
the time being their chief consideration. And after the first day or so
he began indeed to enjoy himself extremely. For one thing, he came to
love the atmosphere of the old place and of the surrounding country,
which he and Gerald explored together. He liked to think that ancestors
of his own had been inheritors of these green lanes, and pleasant mellow
stretches. Then, too, after the first few days, he could not help seeing
that they really began to like him, which of course was reassuring, and
tapped his own warm friendliness, which was always ready enough to be
released. And besides, he got by accident what he took to be a hint as
to the trouble. He was passing the half-open door of Lady Sherwood's
morning-room, when he heard Sir Charles's voice break out, "Good God,
Elizabeth, I don't see how you stand it! When I see him so straight and
fine-looking, and so untouched, beside our poor lad, and think--and
think--"

Skipworth hurried out of earshot, but now he understood that look of
aversion in the old man's eyes which had so startled him at first. Of
course, the poor old boy might easily hate the sight of him beside
Gerald. With Gerald himself he really got along famously. He was a most
delightful companion, full of anecdotes and history of the countryside,
every foot of which he had apparently explored in the old days with Chev
and the younger brother, Curtin. Yet even with Gerald, Cary sometimes
felt that aloofness and reserve, and that older protective air that they
all showed him. Take, for instance, that afternoon when they were
lolling together on the grass in the park. The Virginian, running on in
his usual eager manner, had plunged without thinking into an account of
a particularly daring bit of flying on Chev's part, when suddenly he
realized that Gerald had rolled over on the grass and buried his face in
his arms, and interrupted himself awkwardly. "But, of course," he said,
"he must have written home about it himself."

"No, or if he did, I didn't hear of it. Go on," Gerald said in a muffled
voice.

A great rush of compassion and remorse overwhelmed the Virginian, and he
burst out penitently, "What a brute I am! I'm always forgetting and
running on about flying, when I know it must h