The Riviera is thronged with roues and invalids
and adventurers, and we don't want any of them. Dear me, what
sacrifices a grown-up daughter does entail. This coming season shall be
your last, Sybil. I won't drag on round again. I'm really getting
ashamed of it."
"Isn't she dreadful?" Sybil murmured to Brooks. "I hope you will come
to Enton before we leave."
"It is very kind of you, Lady Sybil," Brooks said, "but you must
remember that I am not like most of the men you meet. I have to work
hard, especially just now."
"And if I were you I would be thankful for it," she said, warmly. "From
our point of view, at any rate, there is nothing so becoming to a man as
the fact that he is a worker. Sport is an excellent thing, but I detest
young men who do nothing else but shoot and hunt and loaf about. It
seems to me to destroy character where work creates it. All the same, I
hope you will find an opportunity to come to Enton and say good-bye to
us."
Brooks was suddenly conscious that it would be no pleasant thing to say
good-bye to Lady Sybil. He had never known any one like her, so
perfectly frank and girlish, and yet with character enough underneath
in her rare moments of seriousness.
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