An agent would have to be appointed to replace him, whose salary--not a
very large one, in view of the duties to be performed, but still a
salary--would have to be provided out of his, Austin's, pocket. Who,
again, could undertake the permanent care of his mother? Viviette would
stay at home for some little time; but she would be marrying one of
these fine days--a day which Austin had reasons for hoping would not be
very remote. He would have to make Heaven knows what arrangements for
Mrs. Ware and the general upkeep of the Manor House, while he was in
London carrying on his profession. Decidedly, Dick had been a godsend,
and his absence would be a calamity. In sending him out to Vancouver
Austin had all the unalloyed, pure pleasure of self-sacrifice.

They talked of Dick and Dick's birthday and Dick's happiness most of the
way to Witherby. The telegram despatched, prepaid with the porterage by
Viviette, Austin felt that he had done his duty by his brother, and
deserved some consideration on his own account. And here it was that the
summer began its game with their hearts. On such sportive occasions it
is not so much what is said that matters. A conversation that might be
entirely conventional between comparative strangers in a fog may become
the most romantic interchange of sentiment imaginable between intimates
in the sunshine. There are tones, there are glances, there are
half-veiled allusions, there are--in a dog-cart, especially when it
jolts--thrilling contacts of arm and arm. There is man's undisguised
tribute to beauty; there is beauty's keen feminine appreciation of the
tribute. There is a manner of saying "we" which counts for more than the
casual conjunction of the personalities.

"This is _our_ day, Viviette," said Austin. "I shall always remember
it."