On the afternoon following his arrival, George stood thoughtfully
looking about on his cousin's lawn. Creepers flecked the mellow brick
front of the old house with sprays of tender leaves; purple clematis
hung from a trellis; and lichens tinted the low terrace wall with
subdued coloring. The grass was flanked by tall beeches, rising in
masses of bright verdure against a sky of clearest blue; and beyond it,
across the sparkling river, smooth meadows ran back to the foot of the
hills. It was, in spite of the bright sunshine, all so fresh and cool:
a picture that could be enjoyed only in rural England.

George was sensible of the appeal it made to him; now, when he must
shortly change such scenes for the wide levels of western Canada, which
are covered during most of the year with harsh, gray grass, alternately
withered by frost and sun, he felt their charm. It was one thing to
run across to Norway on a fishing or mountaineering trip and come back
when he wished, but quite another to settle down on the prairie where
he must remain until his work should be done. Moreover, for Mrs.
Lansing had many friends, the figures scattered about the lawn--young
men and women in light summer attire--enhanced the attractiveness of
the surroundings. They were nice people, with pleasant English ways;
and George contrasted them with the rather grim, aggressive plainsmen
among whom he would presently have to live: men who toiled in the heat,
half naked, and who would sit down to meals with him in dusty, unwashed
clothes. He was not a sybarite, but he preferred the society of Mrs.
Lansing's guests.

After a while she beckoned him, and they leaned upon the terrace wall
side by side. She was a good-natured, simple woman, with strongly
domestic habits and conventional views.