"But you have no money to invest," Mrs. Osborn insisted anxiously.
"As a matter of fact, I have some. You see, I borrowed a sum not long since on Ryecote."
"Oh!" said Mrs. Osborn, with a resigned gesture, and then braced herself."But if you have got the money, it ought not to be used for speculation.There is much that needs to be done on the estate."
"That is so; it was my reason for borrowing. All the same, it would be a very long time before I got back what I meant to spend on drains and steadings. Besides, the repairs and improvements need not be made just yet, and I might be able to use the money and earn a good profit first."
"You might lose it all," Mrs. Osborn insisted. "Gerald is rash and business men don't tell young bank-clerks important secrets. Then, although it was a shock to hear you had mortgaged Ryecote, the money is so badly needed that it must not be risked." She paused and resumed with some color in her face, "It is hard to own, but perhaps Gerald is not altogether to be trusted."
Osborn moved abruptly. His wife had touched the doubt that made him hesitate; in fact, this was a matter upon which he wanted her advice. She knew her son and had judged right when Osborn had been deceived.
"Well," he said, knitting his brows, "I haven't quite decided. I had thought about asking for particulars, but after all Gerald's hint may not be worth much and unless one is really well informed speculation is dangerous."
He looked round and saw Thorn. The latter had come up without disturbing the group and now joined them with a smile.
"I heard your last remark," he said. "My opinion is your views are sound. It is very rash to speculate on shares you don't know much about."
Mrs. Osborn felt disturbed, because she wondered how much he had heard, but he went on carelessly: "Gerald's too young for one to trust his judgment. My advice is, leave the thing alone."
Grace gave him a grateful glance. She did not like Alan Thorn, but he was cautious and she saw that Osborn was hesitating. It would not need much persuasion to move him one way or the other, and she felt that to let Gerald have the money would be a dangerous mistake.
"You really think I had better keep out of it?" Osborn asked.
"Certainly," said Thorn. "Only a few of the big jobbers can form an accurate notion how prices ought to go. For people like us speculation is a plunge in the dark."
Osborn was silent for a few moments, but Grace saw that he was pulled in different ways by caution and greed. Then, to her relief, he made a sign of agreement.
"Oh, well! I'll let the thing alone."
Thorn sat down and when Mrs. Osborn had given him some tea they talked about other matters. Presently Grace got up and he walked with her across the lawn.
"Were you satisfied with the advice I gave your father?" he asked.
"Yes," said Grace frankly. "I think he was tempted; I was glad you came."
"After all, a hint that he'd better be prudent did not cost me much. You know I'd do more than that to help you."
"You did all that was necessary," Grace replied. "You have my thanks."
Thorn glanced at her keenly, but there was something chilling in her calm.
"Well, I'm going to London in a day or two and it might be advisable to look Gerald up. I will, if you like."
"Yes," said Grace. "If it doesn't give you much trouble."
She left him and Thorn stood still, frowning. Grace was always like that, friendly but elusive. No matter how he tried, he could not break down her reserve.
Thorn went up to town and one evening loitered about the hall of his club. London rather bored him, but he went there now and then, because he felt one ought to keep in touch with things. It was, in a sense, one's duty to know what was going on, and the news he picked up helped him to look well informed. Thorn had not much imagination, but he was cautious, calculating, and generally saw where his advantage lay. His small estate was managed well, in general his tenants liked him, and his investments were sound. Nevertheless, he was dissatisfied; he had waited long for Grace Osborn, and feared that in spite of her father's approval he got no nearer her.
Alan Thorn was not romantic but his love for Grace was, to some extent, a generous emotion. He knew Osborn's poverty, and it was plain that if he married Grace he might have to help him out of his embarrassments. He was fond of money and had grounds for imagining that the daughter of a rich neighbor would not refuse him; but he wanted Grace and saw he could not wait much longer. He was fastidious about his clothes, and their color and loose cut prevented people remarking that he was getting fat; his dark hair was carefully brushed. He knew, however, that he was getting heavier fast and that he would soon be bald.
He had meant to go out, but had no particular object and the streets were hot; besides, after the quiet country, he liked the bustle in the hall. People were beginning to come in and one could see the crowd stream past the glass doors. Sitting down in a corner he began to muse. Although he had been in town some time, he had not seen Gerald. He had called at the latter's lodgings and found him not at home, while when he went to the bank he was told that Gerald had been sent to manage a small branch office. Thorn thought it strange that Osborn had said nothing about this and wondered whether he knew. Gerald was extravagant and much less frank than he looked; he might have had an object for hiding his promotion. Thorn understood that Osborn made him some allowance, but it was hard to see how the young man was able to belong to his rather expensive club.
After a time, Gerald came in and glanced at two or three men who stood about. At first, Thorn imagined he was looking for him, but saw he was not. Gerald went into the telephone box close by and shut the door with a jerky movement. It jarred and then swung back a few inches as if the shock had jolted the spring. Thorn, whose curiosity was excited, listened and heard the number Gerald asked for. Then he heard him say:
"Yes—Osborn! Is that Sanderson? Yes—I saidErmentrudes. Any chance of a recovery? What—none at all? Can't hear—oh, sell at once! Margin's gone."
Next moment Gerald obviously saw that the door was open, for he banged it noisily and Thorn heard nothing more. He had, however, heard enough to give him food for thought and waited until Gerald came out. The young man stood still with his mouth firmly set and his eyes fixed on the wall as if he saw nobody. His clothes were in the latest fashion, but the look of fastidious languidness that generally marked him had gone. Turning abruptly, he went up the stairs, and Thorn entered the telephone box and opened the directory. When he came out he went up to a man he knew.
"Can you tell me anything about Short and Sanderson, stockbrokers?" he asked.
"Not much," said the other. "They're outside brokers. I imagine they're trustworthy, but it's better to do business through a member of the Exchange. You'll find it a good rule."
"Thank you," said Thorn, who went upstairs to the smoking-room and found Gerald sitting in front of a table, with a newspaper that dealt with financial matters.
"Hallo!" said Thorn. "I have been expecting you for some days. I suppose you got my message?"
Gerald looked up and his smile was strained. "I did, but have been much engaged. Sit down and join me in a drink."
"What have you ordered?" Thorn asked, and shrugged when Gerald told him.
"That goes better after dinner. I'd sooner have something cool and light."
"Oh, well," said Gerald. "I felt I needed bracing. The fact is, I've had a knock—"
He stopped as a waiter came up and said nothing until the man had gone.Then he drained his glass and turned to Thorn.
"I'm in a hole. Can you lend me two thousand pounds?"
Thorn hid his surprise. He thought urgent need had forced Gerald to make his blunt request; it was not his way to plunge at things like that.
"You asked your father for a smaller sum."
"They told you about my letter? Well, things have changed since; changed for the worse."
"They must have changed rather quickly," Thorn remarked, for his suspicion was excited and he thought he saw a light. Gerald had been embarrassed when he wrote to Osborn, and had not wanted the money to invest but to help him to escape the consequences of some extravagance.
"That has nothing to do with it," Gerald rejoined. "Will you let me have the money? You can, if you like."
"To begin with, you had better tell me why you want so large a sum."
Gerald hesitated and his eyelids twitched nervously, but he pulled himself together and Thorn wondered how far he would stick to the truth. He knew Gerald and did not trust him.
"Very well; I bought some shares. There was good ground for expecting they'd go up—"
"They went down? When did you buy?"
"Your meaning's plain," said Gerald sullenly. "If you insist, it was before I wrote home."
"I suspected something like that. However, you have the shares and they may go up again."
"I haven't got the shares. I bought on a margin, and the margin's gone."
"Then, you're rasher than I thought," Thorn rejoined with a searching look. "Well, you have lost your money and it's something of a surprise to hear you had so much. Anyhow, it was yours, and although the loss is serious, I don't understand how you're embarrassed."
"I borrowed," said Gerald, rather hoarsely. "You can wait; the other fellow won't. Then, of course, if I renewed the margin, the shares might recover and put me straight."
Thorn pondered. Gerald's statement was plausible, but he doubted if he had told him all.
"Two thousand pounds is a large sum," he said. "I don't know yet if I can lend it you."
Gerald gave him a steady look. His face was haggard and the sweat ran down his forehead. It was obvious that he was desperate.
"If you hope to marry my sister, you had better help me out."
"I haven't much ground for thinking your sister will agree," Thorn rejoined with some dryness. "Anyhow, it's doubtful if your influence would go far with her, if that is what you mean."
"It is not what I mean," Gerald answered in a hoarse voice. "I have given you a useful hint. You can spare two thousand pounds, and if you let me have the money, you'll be glad you did."
"I must think about it. You can call me up on the telephone at noon to-morrow."
Gerald hesitated, and then made an abrupt movement as a man came into the room. The latter crossed the floor and Gerald got up.
"Very well," he said, and went off.
Soon after Gerald had gone, the man Thorn had met in the hall came in and he asked: "Do you know anything aboutErmentrudes, Norton? I suppose they're mining shares?"
"I wouldn't advise you to invest," the other replied. "The company has seldom paid a dividend, but not long since a rumor got about that a new shaft had bottomed on rich ore." He paused and shrugged. "Nobody knows how such tales are started, but they appeal to optimistic outsiders who like to think they've got a secret tip. Anyhow, there was some reckless buying by people who expected developments at the shareholders' meeting. They were disappointed, and are knocking prices down by their anxiety to sell out."
Thorn thanked him and began to think. He wondered where Gerald had managed to get two thousand pounds, since he imagined that nobody would lend him the sum. He did not know much about banking, but it was possible that Gerald had used his employers' money, hoping to replace it before he was found out. Then, since two thousand pounds, used for a margin, would cover a large number of shares, it looked as if Gerald had lost part of the sum by previous speculations. While he pondered, the man whose entry had seemed to disturb Gerald came to his table and sat down opposite.
"You obviously know young Osborn," he remarked.
Thorn said nothing for a moment or two. Hallam was not a public money-lender, but sometimes negotiated private loans for extravagant young men about town. One meets such people now and then at smart London clubs, and Thorn imagined the fellow could throw some light on Gerald's difficulties.
"We come from the same neighborhood," he replied.
"His father is a large landowner, I believe?"
"He has some land," said Thorn, who began to see his way. He had not yet decided to help Gerald, but if he did, his help must be made as valuable as possible. "The rents are low and the estate is encumbered," he resumed. "On the whole, I don't think you would consider it good security."
"Thank you for the hint. Osborn looked as if he had got a jar."
"I think he had. He bought some shares that have gone down sharply, and since he's a bank-clerk I expect the loss is a serious thing for him."
Hallam nodded carelessly. "No doubt! Do you know a man called Askew?"
"I know something about him. He owns a farm in the dale and has recently spent some money on improvements, although it's doubtful if he'll get much return. I can't tell you if he has any more or not, but imagine he's not worth your bothering about. Besides, he's not the man I'd expect to get into debt."
"Mr. Askew has not been trying to borrow," Hallam answered with a smile."Well, I promised to meet a friend and mustn't stop."
He went away and Thorn sat still, pondering. The other men went out by and by and the room was quiet except for the rumble of traffic in the street and the rattle of an electric fan. A waiter pulled down a blind to shut out a bright sunbeam and Thorn found the shade and softened noises from outside helpful to thought.
Gerald had used money belonging to the bank and borrowed from Hallam in order to pay it back; although Thorn could not see what had persuaded the latter to lend. It was strange, certainly, that Hallam had inquired about Askew, but in the meantime he could let this go. Gerald was threatened by a danger money could avert, and Thorn could help. If he did help, it would give him a claim to Osborn's gratitude, although he could not tell how far this would influence Grace. The Osborns cherished the old-fashioned traditions of their class, and anything that touched one touched all. Grace, however, was modern and rebellious, and Thorn knew she did not like him much. He was not afraid to risk his money, but he must not waste an opportunity he might not get again, and the opportunity could be used in one of two ways.
He could free Gerald from his entanglements and, using no pressure, leave her parents' gratitude to work on Grace. This was the proper line and would enable him to play a generous part; had he been younger, he would not have hesitated, but he saw a risk. He was beginning to look old and unless Grace married him soon, must give her up. The other line, although not attractive, promised greater security. Before he helped he must state his terms and force Osborn to agree. Grace could not struggle, because her refusal would involve the family in Gerald's disgrace. Thorn saw the plan had drawbacks, but Grace was young and, if he indulged and petted her, she would, no doubt, get to like him and forget his hardness. He had heard of marriages made like this that turned out happily.
For a time he sat with his brows knitted and his mouth set. He would have liked to be generous, but he loved the girl and could not force himself to run the risk of losing her. Nevertheless, he honestly tried, and afterwards remembered with strange distinctness the soft rattle of the electric fan and the dull roll of traffic that throbbed in the quiet room while he fought the losing fight. The sunbeam the waiter had shut out crept on to another window and shone on the fluted pillars before he got up. His face was very hard, for he had chosen his line and knew he must take it without doubt or pity.
Going down to the hall, he called up Gerald's branch bank. A clerk who was working late replied that Mr. Osborn had gone.
"I know," said Thorn, giving his name. "Make a note to tell him he need not call on me to-morrow. I find I am unable to do what he requires."
"Very well," said the clerk. "I'll give him the message in the morning."
Thorn rang the bell and, leaving the box, asked for a railway guide. There was nothing to be gained by stopping in London and he looked up the best train for the north.
Thorn went home and waited, confident that Osborn would presently send for him. The estate was heavily mortgaged, Osborn had no rich friends, and when the blow fell would look to Thorn for the aid nobody else could give. In the meantime, Osborn, enjoying a short relief from financial strain, squandered in personal extravagance part of the sum he had borrowed, and then set drainers, carpenters, and builders to work. He liked spending and now tried to persuade himself that the money he was laying out would give him some return. It ought to last until he had finished the renovations his tenants demanded, and although difficulties might arise afterwards, he would wait until they did. Indeed, his wife and daughter found him better humored than he had been for long.
Then, one evening when the hay was harvested and the corn was ripening, his satisfaction was rudely banished. Grace had gone to the lodge with a message and stopped for a few minutes by the gate. The evening was calm and one side of the placid tarn glittered in the light; the other was dark, and soft blue shadows covered the fells behind. She heard the languid splash of ripples on the stones and the murmur of a beck in a distant ghyll. A strange restful tranquillity brooded over the dale.
Grace felt the calm soothing, for her thoughts were not a little disturbed. She had met Thorn in the afternoon and noted a puzzling change in his manner. So far, she had been able to check his cautious advances, but she now remarked a new confidence that seemed to indicate he had some power in reserve. She admitted that she might have imagined this, but it troubled her.
Afterwards she had met Kit and the comfort the meeting gave her had forced her to think. Their friendship had gone far; in fact, it had reached a point friendship could not pass. Kit was not yet her lover, but she thought he waited for a sign that she would acknowledge him when he made his claim. She liked Kit; she had not met a man she liked so much. This, however, did not imply that she was willing to marry him. Although she now and then rebelled against conventions, she had inherited some of Osborn's prejudices, and her mother sprang from old-fashioned land-owning stock. Kit belonged to another class; the life he led was different. She had been taught to enjoy cultivated idleness, broken by outdoor sports and social amusements; but Kit was a worker, farming for money and resolved to make his efforts pay. His wife must help and Grace did not know if this daunted her or not.
Moreover, if she married Kit, she must quarrel with her parents. She knew what Osborn thought about him. Had she been sure she loved Kit, the choice would have been easier, but although she blushed as she mused, this was too much to own. Yet he loved her, and after all—
She let the matter go and looked up, for there were steps in the shadowy road. Then a figure came into the fading light, and she started and ran to the gate.
"Gerald!" she exclaimed. "Why have you come home?"
"Somehow you don't feel flattered when people ask you why you came," Gerald rejoined with a forced smile. "It rather indicates surprise than satisfaction."
"I am surprised," Grace admitted, trying to hide her vague alarm. "We did not expect you. How did you getaway?"
"I took a week's leave. I haven't been very fit."
Grace gave him a sharp glance and thought he looked ill. His face was pinched, his eyes were furtive, and his mouth was slack.
"What has been the matter?" she asked.
"Nothing very much," Gerald replied. "Mental strain, I expect. Managing a bank is a big job and I'm not used to responsibility."
It looked as if his carelessness cost him an effort and Grace said nothing. When they reached the house Gerald resumed: "You'll hear all about it later. Is the chief at home?"
Grace nodded. They had seldom called Osborn father, but chief and head of the clan, and she thought it significant that Gerald used the name he often falteringly employed after boyish escapades. She began to feel that there was something wrong.
"He's in the library," she said.
"That's satisfactory, as far as it goes," Gerald remarked, climbing the steps. "The sooner I see him, the sooner I'll get through the thing." He paused and gave Grace an anxious glance. "You'll stand by me? You generally did."
"I suppose so," Grace agreed. "But I don't know your difficulties and what you want."
"You will know soon," Gerald rejoined and shrugged his shoulders. "Well, it's an awkward business; I've got to brace up."
He left her and went to the library, where Osborn sat at the big oak table with some letters and a wine glass in front of him. The spacious room was mostly in shadow, but a ray of fading light shone in through the tall west window. Gerald avoided the illumination as he advanced, and stopped in the gloom opposite Osborn, who straightened his body with a jerk and upset the glass.
"Well?" he said harshly. "Why have you left the bank?"
"The wine is running across the table and on to your clothes.Shall I ring?"
"No," said Osborn, pushing his chair back noisily. "Let it run! Stand still or sit down. Tell me why you came."
"To begin with, I have left the bank for good."
"Ah," said Osborn grimly, "I suspected something like this! You mean they turned you out? Well, you are consistent in your habits. You left school in similar circumstances, you left Woolwich, and now—"
"I was not turned out, sir. They gave me a week's leave, but I can't go back."
Osborn frowned. Things had been going well and he had thought himself free from trouble for a time, but it looked as if he would get his worst jar. He tried to preserve his calm and said with a touch of weariness:
"Tell me what has happened and keep as near the truth as is possible for you."
Gerald told him, standing back in the shadow and not pausing to choose his words. It was an ugly story that could not be toned down and he knew if he stopped he could not go on again. Although Osborn said nothing, his face got red and the veins on his forehead swelled, and Gerald found his silence strangely daunting. When the latter stopped, Osborn got up and stood, rather shakily, with his hand clenched.
"Get out of my sight, you despicable thief!" he cried. "My control is going. If you stand and fidget there, I'll knock you down!"
"There wouldn't be much use in that, although I deserve it," Gerald replied. "It's too late for excuses. The situation's dangerous. You have got to help me out."
"I can't help," said Osborn in a strained, hoarse voice. "Why didn't you leave the country instead of coming home?"
Gerald forced a nervous smile. "The reason ought to be obvious, sir; I might be brought back. We must get over the need for me to go. You see, the bill must be met. If it's dishonored, everybody who knows us will have something to talk about."
"I thought you a fool," said Osborn bitterly. "You are a fool, but you have a vein of devilish cunning. You steal and forge; and then expect to shuffle off the consequences on to your relatives!"
He pulled himself up, for Gerald's coolness was steadying. "However, I must understand. What will happen when the lender finds you cannot pay?"
"The usual course would be for him to go to the endorser," Gerald replied and added with some awkwardness: "I mean the man whose name I used. His signature's a guarantee and makes him liable. Still, as Hallam's a tactful fellow, it's possible he'll first come to you."
"Do you mean he's suspicious?"
"I don't know. He took off an extortionate discount for a very short loan."
"How much did he lend you?"
"The bill was for two thousand pounds."
Osborn made a helpless gesture. "I can't pay. The money I borrowed is partly spent and the rest must go for wages and material. You can't put wages off—"
He stopped and sat down limply. The shock was beginning to tell. He felt dull and had no reserve of moral strength to sustain him now his fury had gone. Gerald saw this and knew that guidance must come from him. He waited, however, and Osborn went on:
"It's ridiculous that we should be ruined for two thousand pounds; but there it is! If I try to borrow from my friends, I must tell why I need the money. And I don't know who would lend."
"Thorn might," Gerald suggested meaningly. "I asked him and he wouldn't, but I don't think his refusal was final."
"Ah!" said Osborn, with a start. "Why do you think it was not?"
"I imagine he has another plan; he means to wait until it's obvious we must have his help. Then he can ask what he likes."
For a moment, Osborn's anger blazed up again. "I see where you are leading, you contemptible cur! You expect your sister to pay for you!"
"It would be a good marriage," said Gerald, awkwardly. "I thought you wanted it."
"Stop!" exclaimed Osborn, and rested his elbows on the table, with his shoulders bent.
He had wanted Grace to marry Thorn, but his domineering temper did not carry him as far as Gerald thought. He had hoped that by and by Grace would consent; it was ridiculous to imagine she would long refuse to see the advantages that were plain to him, but to force her to pay for her brother's fault was another thing. Although Grace was rebellious, he had some love for her. In fact, he revolted from the plan and felt he hated Thorn for the pressure he could use. He was nearly resigned to letting things go and facing the threatened disaster.
For a minute or two, he did not move and Gerald got horribly cramped as he stood opposite. The room was getting dark and Osborn's figure was indistinct, but his quietness hinted at a struggle, Gerald began to feel anxious, because he had not expected his father to hesitate. At length Osborn looked up.
"You haven't told me whose name you used."
"Askew's," said Gerald, with a tremor. He knew he could use no stronger argument, but felt afraid.
"Askew's!" shouted Osborn, straightening his bent shoulders with a savage jerk. "This is more than I can bear. Was there nobody you could rob but the man who has plotted against me since he came home from school?" He stopped and gasped as if his rage were choking him and it was some moments before he went on: "You have given the fellow power to humble us and drag our name in the mud. Can't you imagine how he'll exult? Our honor in Askew's hands! It's unthinkable!"
"If the bill isn't met, the holder will apply to Askew," Gerald said as coolly as he could.
Osborn's muscles relaxed and he sank back into his limp pose. His hand shook as he wiped his wet forehead.
"You have said enough. Leave me alone. I must try to think."
Gerald went out and drew a deep breath when he reached the landing. He felt shaky and ashamed, but knew he had won. The shutting of the door gave Osborn some relief. The anger and disgust Gerald excited had confused his brain, but now the lad had gone he saw no light. There was but one way of escape, and this a way it was almost unthinkable that he should take. The strange thing was he should hate it so much, for he had never indulged his children or thought about their happiness. Yet he shrank from forcing his daughter to marry Thorn, whom he approved while she did not.
He might, perhaps, for the girl's sake, have sacrificed his pride; but there was an obstacle before which his courage melted. If Thorn did not help, Askew would know his disgrace and Osborn did not expect him to be merciful. His rancor against Askew had by degrees become a blind, illogical hate that made it impossible for him to see anything Kit did in its proper light. Feeling as he did, he imagined Kit would rejoice in the opportunity for humbling him.
All the same, knowing the fight was hopeless, he struggled against the conviction that he must beg help from Thorn. In many ways, he liked Alan, but he was hard and Osborn dreaded his firmness now. Yet he could help and there was nobody else. It got dark, but Osborn did not move. A faint breeze came up and moaned about the house, and presently a moonbeam stole into the room. Osborn sat still, with his head bent and his arms spread out across the table. Sometimes he burned with anger against Gerald and sometimes he scarcely felt anything at all.
At length, he got up, and with an effort went upstairs. Half an hour later, a heavy sleep that came as a reaction after the shock closed his eyes and banished his troubles for a time.
On the day after Gerald's return Osborn shut himself up in his library. If he could raise two thousand pounds, it would save him from agreeing to the demand Thorn would, no doubt, make, and although he really knew the thing was impossible, he sought desperately for a way of escape. He was careless about money, and, for the most part, left his business to his agent, but he wanted to find out how he stood before he went to Hayes. There was no obvious reason for his doing so, but he had begun to suspect that Hayes was not as devoted to his interests as he had thought. His wife and Grace distrusted the fellow, and although they knew nothing about business, Osborn admitted that the advice they had sometimes given him had been sound.
The involved calculations he made gave him fresh ground for disturbance. It was plain that he could borrow no more money and the sum he had received for the last mortgage had nearly gone. He might perhaps get together three or four hundred pounds, at the risk of letting builders and drainers go unpaid, but this was not enough. After a time, he put away his books in a fit of hopeless anger and drove across to see Hayes at the market town.
The interview was short and disappointing. Osborn could not tell Hayes why he needed money and found him unusually firm. He proved that the estate was heavily overburdened, fresh loans were impossible, and stern economy must be used if it was to be saved from bankruptcy. To some extent, Osborn had expected this, but had cherished a faint hope that Hayes might lend him enough to satisfy Gerald's creditor. He could not force himself to ask for a loan outright, and Hayes had been strangely dull about his cautious hints. Osborn believed the fellow could have helped him, but as he had shown no wish to do so there was nothing to be said. He drove home in a downcast mood and sent for Gerald.
"I can't get the money," he said. "You know the man you dealt with. Is there any hope of his renewing the bill?"
"I'm afraid there is none, sir," Gerald replied.
"When he made the loan he knew you were a bank-clerk and had no money."
"I expect he did know, but thought you had some."
Osborn sighed. His anger had gone and a dull, hopeless dejection had taken its place. He felt as if he and Gerald were accomplices in a plot against Grace, and did not resent the lad's insinuation that they stood together. The Osborns did stand together, and he hoped Grace would see her duty.
"Well," he said, "the payment is not due just yet. I'll wait a little and then write to the fellow."
It was a relief to put the thing off, but he found no comfort as the days went by, and although he shrank from taking Mrs. Osborn into his confidence, his moody humor gave her a hint. Besides, he was not clever at keeping a secret and now and then made illuminating remarks. Mrs. Osborn, although reserved, was shrewd and she and Grace, without consulting each other, speculated about the trouble that obviously threatened the house. By degrees, their conjectures got near the truth and at length Mrs. Osborn nerved herself to ask her husband a few blunt questions. He had not meant to tell her all until he was forced, but was taken off his guard and told her much. Afterwards she sent for Grace.
When Grace heard the story her face got very white and she looked at her mother with fear in her eyes.
"I suspected something, but this is worse than I thought," she said in a low strained voice. "But Alan is an old friend; it is not very much for him to do and perhaps he will be generous."
Mrs. Osborn was sitting rather limply on the stone bench on the terrace, but she roused herself.
"He is hard and I think will understand what his help is worth. He knows there is nobody else. Besides, if we accept this favor, we cannot refuse—"
"Oh," said Grace, "it's unbearable! I never liked Alan; I feel I hate him now." She paused and gave Mrs. Osborn an appealing glance. "But you cannot think I ought to agree, mother? There must be another way!"
Mrs. Osborn shook her head. "I cannot see another way, and many girls in our class have married men they did not like, though I had hoped for a better lot for you. With us, women do not count; the interests of the family come first."
"That means the men's interests," Grace broke out. "Father has been reckless all his life and now Gerald has dragged our name in the mud. He is to be saved from the consequences and I must pay!"
"It is unjust," Mrs. Osborn agreed. "So far as that goes, there is no more to be said. But when one thinks of the disgrace—Gerald hiding in America, or perhaps in prison!"
Her voice broke. She was silent for a few moments and then resumed: "Your father's is the conventional point of view that I was taught to accept but which I begin to doubt. I must choose between my daughter and my son; the son who carries on the house. If Gerald escapes, his punishment falls on you. The choice is almost too hard for flesh and blood."
"I know," said Grace, with quick sympathy. "It is horrible!"
"Well," said Mrs. Osborn, "the line I ought to take is plain—Tarnside will be Gerald's; our honor must be saved. But I do not know. If you shrink from Alan—"
"If he insists, I shall hate him always. Yet, it looks as if there was no use in rebelling. I feel as if I had been caught in a snare that tightens when I try to break loose. I understand why a rabbit screams and struggles until it chokes when it feels the wire. It's like that with me."
Mrs. Osborn bent her head. "My dear! My dear!" Then she looked up irresolutely with tears in her eyes. "I cannot see my duty as I thought. The convention is that my son should come first, but you are nearer to me than Gerald has been for long. I feel numb and dull; I cannot think. Perhaps to-morrow I may see—"
Grace got up and kissed her. "Then, we will wait. If no help comes, I suppose I must submit."
She went away with a languid step and Mrs. Osborn, sinking back in a corner of the bench, looked across the lawn with vacant eyes. In a sense, she had shirked her duty and failed her husband, but she had long given way to him and was now beginning to rebel.
Grace afterwards looked back with horror on the disturbed evening and sleepless night, and the morning brought her no relief. She could not resign herself to the sacrifice she thought she would be forced to make, and her mother told her that Osborn had sent a note to Thorn and a man from London would arrive in the evening. It was plain that Alan must be persuaded to help Gerald before the other came.
In the afternoon she walked up the dale, without an object, because it was impossible to stop in the house. After a time she heard a dog bark and, stopping by an open gate, saw Kit swinging a scythe where an old thorn hedge threw its shadow on a field of corn. He was cutting a path for the binder and for a minute or two she stood and watched.
Kit had taken off his jacket and his thin blue shirt harmonized with the warm yellow of the corn and the color of his sunburnt skin. The thin material showed the fine modeling of his figure as his body followed the sweep of the gleaming scythe. The forward stoop and recovery were marked by a rhythmic grace, and the crackle of the oat-stalks hinted at his strength. His face was calm and Grace saw his mind dwelt upon his work. He looked honest, clean, and virile, but she turned her head and struggled with a poignant sense of loss. She knew now what it would cost her to let him go.
Then his dog ran up and Kit, putting down his scythe, came to the gate. He gave her a searching glance, but she was calm again and began to talk about the harvest. He did not seem to listen, and when she stopped said abruptly: "You are standing in the sun. Come into the shade; I'll make you a seat."
She went with him, knowing this was imprudent but unable to resist, and he threw an oat-stook against the bank and covered it with his coat. Grace sat down and he studied her thoughtfully.
"I want you to tell me what's the matter," he said.
"How do you know I have anything to tell?"
"Perhaps it's sympathy, instinct, or something like that. Anyhow, I do know, and you may feel better when you have told me. It's now and then a relief to talk about one's troubles."
Grace was silent. Her heart beat fast and she longed for his sympathy, and his nearness gave her a feeling of support; but she could not tell him all her trouble. He waited with a patience that somehow indicated understanding, and she looked about. The tall oats rippled before the wind and soft shadows trailed across the hillside. When the white clouds passed, the dale was filled with light that jarred her hopelessness.
"As you haven't begun yet, I'll make a guess," said Kit. "Things have been going wrong at Tarnside since Gerald came home? Well, if you can give me a few particulars, it's possible I can help."
His steady glance was comforting and Grace's reserve gave way. It was humiliating, and in a sense disloyal, to talk about Gerald, but her pride had gone and she was suddenly inspired by a strange confidence. Perhaps Kit could help; one could trust him and he was not the man to be daunted by obstacles.
"Yes," she said vaguely; "it's Gerald—"
"So I thought," Kit remarked. "Very well. You had better tell me all you know, or, anyhow, all you can."
She gave him a quick glance to see what he meant, but his brown face was inscrutable, and with an effort, talking fast in order to finish before her courage failed, she narrated what she had heard. She could not, of course, tell him all, and, indeed, Mrs. Osborn's story left much to be explained.
"Ah," said Kit, "I begin to see a light, although the thing's not quite plain yet. Anyhow, your father needs money and must ask his friends." He paused and resumed in a voice he tried to make careless: "Has he asked Thorn?"
Grace hesitated and turned her head as she felt the blood creep into her face. "Yes; you see, there is nobody else."
"I'm not sure about that. However, it looks as if Thorn had not sent his answer yet and there's not much time to lose. You expect the man from London to-night?"
Grace said they did and studied Kit while he pondered. His preoccupied look indicated that he was working out some plan and did not understand how bold she had been. He did not seem at all surprised that she had come to him. She had broken the family traditions by giving him her confidence, but she felt happier.
"I'd like to see Gerald," he said. "It's important, and I'll be atAshness at four o'clock. If he will not come, you must let me know."
"I'll send him if I can," said Grace, who got up. Then she hesitated and looked away across the field. "Perhaps I ought not to have told you, but I felt I must, and I'm glad I did."
Kit smiled and after walking to the gate with her went on with his mowing. Her story left out much he wanted to know, but he thought he saw where it led and would get the rest from Gerald. This might be difficult, but he meant to insist.
When Grace reached Tarnside she met Gerald on the lawn and took him to the bench under the copper-beech.
"Mr. Askew wants you to go to Ashness at four o'clock," she said.
"Askew wants me!" Gerald exclaimed, with a start, and Grace thought he looked afraid. "Why?"
"I don't know. He said it was important."
Gerald looked hard at her. "Well, I suppose it is important. But how does he know about the thing?"
"I told him," Grace answered with forced quietness.
"You told him?" Gerald gasped, and then laughed harshly. "I knew you had pluck, but didn't expect this! You don't seem to realize what an extravagant thing you've done."
"I don't; it doesn't matter. Will you go?"
Gerald pondered for a few moments and then looked up. "You owe me nothing, Grace. In fact, you and mother have often had to pay for my folly; but I want you to be honest now. I imagine you understand what Alan expects if he helps me out?"
"Yes," said Grace in a strange hard voice.
"It would be a good marriage; the kind of marriage you ought to make. Alan's rich and can give you the things you like and ought to have. But with all that, I imagine you'd sooner let it go?"
"I hate it," Grace said quietly. "I don't like Alan; I never shall like him."
"He has some drawbacks," Gerald remarked, and was silent. He had not often a generous impulse, but he was moved by his sister's distress and thought he saw a plan. The plan was extravagant, and risky for him.
"I wonder whether you'd sooner marry Askew?" he resumed.
Grace moved abruptly and her face got red. She had not expected the question and was highly strung. Gerald saw her embarrassment and went on:
"Of course, he's an outsider, from our point of view, but he's a good sort. In fact, he's much better than Alan. Besides, there's some ground for believing you are pretty good friends."
"Stop!" Grace exclaimed. "This has nothing to do with you. It's unthinkable that you should meddle!"
Gerald smiled. "I'm not going to give Askew a hint, if that is what you mean. I wanted to find out if you'd shrink from him as you shrink from Alan, and I think I know."
"You don't know," Grace declared, and then stopped and blushed as she met his steady look. After all, there was no use in pretending; Gerald would not be deceived. Still, when he quietly got up she asked with alarm: "What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to Ashness," Gerald replied. "I've made things hard for you and mother, but I won't bring you fresh embarrassment now. In fact, I think you can trust me, and, indeed, it's obvious that you must." He turned and looked back with a smile. "If Askew's the man I think, the chief will shortly get a jar."
Grace wanted to call him back, but somehow could not, and sat still while he crossed the lawn. So long as she could see him, he moved carelessly, but when he went down the drive behind a clipped hedge his step got slow and his face was hard. The thing he meant to do would need some pluck, and might be dangerous if he had not judged Askew right.
In the meantime, Kit went back to Ashness and smoked a cigarette while he pondered what Grace had told him. He had seen that she did not altogether know her brother's offense, but since money was needed, Kit could guess; Gerald had been betting or speculating and had used money that was not his. Undoubtedly, Kit did not think he had robbed his employers, because, if he had done so, he would not have stayed at Tarnside. He had, however, robbed somebody, and as Kit remembered his skill with the pen he saw a light. Gerald had used somebody else's name, on the back of a bill or promissory note, and now the bill must be met.
Presently he heard steps in the passage and looking up as Gerald came in indicated a chair. Gerald sat down and for a few moments Kit studied him quietly. It was obvious that he felt some strain, but his look was resolute and Kit owned that he had more pluck than he had thought. The room was very quiet and the shadow of a big ash tree fell across the open window. The musical tinkle of a binder working among the corn came faintly down the dale.
"Well?" said Gerald, conscious of a sense of relief in Askew's presence."You sent for me."
"I did. Your sister told me something; all she knew, perhaps, but not enough. Anyhow, you are in trouble about money and I promised to help."
"For my sake?" Gerald asked.
Kit frowned. "Not altogether, but we'll let that go. If I am to be of use, you had better state the trouble plainly. I must know how things are."
"I suppose if you find the money I need, it will give you a claim on us,"Gerald remarked meaningly.
"Yes," said Kit, with a steady look. "But that won't make any difference.I don't mean to urge my claim. I expect this clears the ground?"
"It does; it's some relief. As a matter of fact, nobody can help quite as much as you."
"Ah," said Kit, "I think I see! You usedmyname. What was the sum for which you made me responsible?"
Gerald told him and waited anxiously when Kit knitted his brows. The sum was not so large as the latter had thought and Osborn's inability to raise it indicated that he was seriously embarrassed.
"I understand your father applied to Thorn," said Kit. "Does he know you have come to me?"
"He does not; nobody knows but Grace. I'd better state that I did come because I thought you'd take a generous line, and I'm doubtful about Thorn."
Kit made a sign of understanding. "Thorn hasn't arrived yet?" he said.
"He sent a note he'd come across, but when I left he hadn't arrived. My notion is he's waiting until the last moment, with the object of making us realize we must have his help."
"It's possible," said Kit, who approved Gerald's handling of the matter. The lad was a wastrel, but he had run some risk in order to save his sister from being forced to pay for his fault. "We won't bother about Thorn's object," he resumed. "Tell me about your difficulties. I don't want a half confidence."
Gerald hesitated and then began his tale. He had used the bank's money to speculate with and had lost. Plunging again, in the hope of getting straight, he had got alarmed when the margin shrank, and had gone to Hallam, the money-lender. The latter had insisted on a guarantee for the bill and Gerald had used Kit's name. He replaced the bank's money and had hoped the shares would go up before the bill fell due, but they had not.
"Well," said Kit quietly, "I expected something like this, and when the fellow brings the bill to your father it must be met." He stopped and picking up a newspaper studied the steamship advertisements. Then he turned to Gerald.
"There's another thing. You can't get a post in England, and for your mother's and sister's sakes, had better leave the country. A fast New York boat sails from Liverpool to-morrow. You must get off by to-night's train."
Gerald looked at him with surprise. "But I'm not going to New York. I've no money and don't know what to do when I get there."
"I'll fix that," Kit said dryly. "You are going, anyhow. If you deliver the letter I'll give you to some people in Mobile, they'll find you a job. The rest will depend upon yourself."
For a few moments Gerald hesitated, and then got up. "Very well! Perhaps it's the best chance I'll get, and I'll take it. But I must go back and pack."
"I think not," said Kit. "There's not much time. I must see the bank manager at his house first of all, and start soon. You'll come with me to the town. Sit down and write to your mother; I'll see she gets the note."
Gerald did as he was told and not long afterwards Kit and he drove out of the Ashness lonning and took the road to the town.
As the sun got lower an apathetic gloom began to replace the anxiety that had kept the Osborns highly strung. Mrs. Osborn went dejectedly about the house, sometimes moving an ornament and putting away a book, for her brain was dull and she felt incapable of the effort to rouse herself for her daughter's sake. Thorn had not arrived and if he did not come soon he would be too late. On the whole, this was some relief, although it meant that there was no escape from the disaster that threatened her home.
Torn by conflicting emotions, she had since morning struggled against the binding force of her traditions. In a sense, it was Grace's duty to save the family honor, but the duty would cost the girl too much. Yet, if Grace failed them, Gerald must suffer, and she doubted if her husband could bear the shame that must fall on all. Now, however, she was conscious of a numbing resignation that blunted feeling and dulled her brain.
In the meantime, Grace stood at the lodge gate, watching the road to Ashness while the shadows crept across the dale. Gerald had not come back and she had not told her mother where he had gone. The delay was worrying, particularly since Kit had sent no message. He had said he could help and one could trust him, but he did not come and the confidence she had felt was vanishing. If it was not well placed, there was no escape for her, and she shrank with horror from meeting Thorn's demand.
The shadows got longer, but nothing moved on the road that ran like a white riband across the fields until it vanished among the trees at Ashness. Presently, however, she heard the throb of a car coming up the valley and a cloud of dust rolled up behind a hedge. It was Thorn's car; she knew its hum and as she watched the dust get nearer her face went white. Then, as the hum became loud and menacing, she clenched her hand and ran in nervous panic up the drive. She was breathless when she reached the house, but pulled herself together and went to a quiet room where she would be alone.
Osborn, sitting in the library, heard the car, and got up with a sense of relief and shrinking. He had been afraid that Thorn would fail him, and now he almost wished that the fellow had not come. He was not in the mood to be logical, and although it was obvious that Thorn alone could save him from disaster, knowing what Grace must pay hurt him more than he had thought. Yet she must pay; he could find no other plan. Now he was acquiescent but not resigned, and his hopelessness gave him calm.
Thorn's face was hot when he came in, and he glanced at Osborn with an effort for carelessness when the latter indicated a chair. Osborn looked old and broken, but he had a touch of dignity that was new.
"I'm sorry if I'm late," Thorn remarked. "I had to go to Swinset and had trouble with the car."
Osborn wondered dully whether this was the real ground for his delay, but he said, "Oh, well, it does not matter now you have arrived. I gave you a hint about my object in sending for you, but you don't know all yet."
"I imagine I know enough. Gerald's in trouble; he or you must meet the bill Hallam will bring. You see, the fellow belongs to my club and I had a talk with him when I was in town."
"So you knew what threatened us?" Osborn remarked, rather sharply. "If so, it's curious you waited until I sent for you."
Thorn hesitated. He had meant to be tactful, but it looked as if he had been rash. Osborn's suspicions were obviously excited.
"The matter is delicate, and I knew you would send for me if you thoughtI could be of use."
"You can be of use. Unless I take up the fellow's bill, Gerald will go to jail."
Thorn made a sign of sympathy. He was surprised by Osborn's bluntness, which implied that the latter was desperate. "That must be prevented. I'll give you a cheque."
He took out his cheque book, and then stopped, and Osborn asked: "Is this a free loan, Alan? I mean, is it made without conditions?"
"A gift, if you like. Anyhow, I won't bother you about repayment. We can't talk aboutconditions; but I have something to ask."
"Grace?" said Osborn, rather hoarsely.
"Yes," said Thorn, with a hint of embarrassment. "I want Grace. It's an awkward situation. I don't want to urge that I deserve my reward, but I've waited a long time and thought you approved."
"I did approve. I hoped she'd marry you, but I imagined she could be persuaded and would do so willingly. However, it looks as if I was mistaken."
Thorn leaned forward, fixing his eyes on Osborn.
"Grace is young, and perhaps I don't make a strong appeal to her romantic feelings, but I belong to her rank and her views and tastes are mine. That is much. Also, I can indulge and give her all she likes; the refinements and comforts to which she is, in a sense, entitled. After all, they count for something. I'm trying to be practical, but I love her."
"If you really love her, I think you would do well not to urge her just now," Osborn remarked quietly.
"Ah," said Thorn, "I can't wait. Waiting has gained me nothing and there is a risk. If I were young, I'd use all the patience I could control, but I'm getting old and farther away from Grace. In another year or two I shall be bald and fat. Perhaps the argument's humorous, but it has a cruel force for me."
"There are other girls, brought up as we have brought up Grace. They might be flattered—"
Thorn spread out his hands. "You don't understand. I'm not looking for a wife! I love her, and if she cannot be persuaded, will never marry anybody else." He paused and resumed with some emotion: "I know the shabbiness of using this opportunity; but it's the last I'll get. I don't want to work on her gratitude, but I see no other plan. I would like to be generous—but I can't let her go."
"Yet you seem to realize that she does not like you."
"She will get over that. Her likes and dislikes haven't yet hardened into their final mold. She's impulsive and generous; I can win her by patience and kindness."
"It is a rash experiment. If you are disappointed, Grace would have to pay."
Thorn was silent for a few moments. He had talked with sincere passion, but now began to think. Osborn's firmness was something of a surprise; Thorn had not expected he would weigh his daughter's feelings against the danger that threatened his house. His opposition must be broken down.
"I had hoped for your consent," he said and his face got hard. "To some extent, I took it for granted."
Osborn's head sunk forward. He had struggled, but saw that he was beaten. To beg would be useless and he could not fight. Pulling himself together with an effort, he looked up.
"You mean you knew I could not refuse?"
"Yes," said Thorn, awkwardly, "I suppose I do mean something like that."
Osborn gave him a long, steady look. Thorn's face was set and his mouth was firm. There was no hint of yielding and Osborn got up. "Very well; I must tell my wife."
He rang a bell and a minute or two afterwards Mrs. Osborn came in. She sat down and Osborn stood opposite.
"Alan has done us the honor of asking my consent to his marrying Grace," he said, with ironical formality. "If we approve, he is willing to help Gerald." He turned to Thorn. "I think I have stated your terms?"
Thorn colored as he saw that Mrs. Osborn's eyes were fixed on him. "You exaggerate. I am willing to do you a service that nobody else can render and think I'm justified in counting on your gratitude."
"Very well," said Osborn. "I don't see much difference, except that you want to save our pride." He paused and looked at his wife. "You know Grace best. Will she consent?"
Something in his manner moved Mrs. Osborn. It was long since he had asked what she thought, and she felt encouraged. Besides, now the crisis had come, her irresolution had vanished. She had thrown off her reserve and meant to defend her daughter.
"No," she said, with a determined note in her quiet voice. "Even if she were willing, I should protest. The fault is Gerald's and he must suffer."
Osborn felt some surprise, but his humiliation had made him gentle. "Gerald cannot suffer alone. His disgrace will reflect upon us all and if he has a son it will follow him. We have been reckless and extravagant, but we have kept our good name and now, when it is all that is left us, it must be protected."
"That was Gerald's duty," Mrs. Osborn rejoined and was silent for a few moments. To some extent, her husband's point of view was hers and she knew his finest quality was his exaggerated family pride. But she would not force her daughter to marry Thorn.
"I will not consent," she resumed. "Grace has long suffered for her brother's extravagance, but she shall not pay for his folly now. It is unjust; the price is too high!" Then she gave Thorn an appealing glance. "Alan, can you not be generous?"
"I'm not brave enough; it might cost me too much," Thorn answered in a strained voice. "I cannot let Grace go. She would be happy with me after a time."
Mrs. Osborn made a scornful gesture and there was silence. Osborn moved irresolutely and it looked as if he were hesitating; then steps echoed along the landing and he started as Kit came in. Thorn's face got very dark, but Mrs. Osborn looked up with a strange sense of relief.
"I didn't stop to ask if you were at home," Kit remarked. "As you know, time is getting short. I understand a man from London will bring you a document about a loan."
"That is so," said Osborn, hoarsely. "What are you going to do about the document?"
"Take it up," Kit answered, with a look of surprise. "My name's on the back." He paused and glanced at Thorn. "Still, this is a matter I'd sooner talk about with you alone."
Thorn got up, making an effort for self-control. "Since Mr. Askew has arrived I needn't stay." He bowed to Mrs. Osborn. "It looks as if I had not understood things. You won't need my help."
He went out with a curious heavy step, and when the door shut, Osborn sat down and looked at Kit as if he had got a shock.
"Then, you haven't come to humble me?"
"Certainly not," said Kit. "I should have come before, but had to find my bank manager, who had left his office."
"Where is Gerald? What have you done with him?" Mrs. Osborn asked, for she began to see a light.
"Gerald's at the station hotel, waiting for the train to Liverpool. He sails for New York to-morrow and takes a letter to some friends of mine who will give him a good start. He sent a note."
Mrs. Osborn read the note and her eyes shone as she turned them on Kit. "It is perhaps the best plan. I would have liked to see him; but I thank you."
"What I have done cost me nothing, and I imagine Gerald will have as good as chance of making progress as he had at the bank, while the excitement he'll probably get will suit him better. But Hallam will be here soon if the train is punctual, and before he comes I want to know—"
At this moment they heard a car come up the drive, a servant knocked at the door, and Hallam was shown in. He sat down in front of the table where Osborn told him, and glanced at Kit.
"This is Mr. Askew," Osborn said. "Mrs. Osborn will stay; she knows your business."
Hallam bowed and tried not to look surprised. "Very well. I have brought the document about which you wrote. I am sorry I find it impossible to renew the loan."
"Let me see the bill," said Kit, who took it from him and afterwards nodded. "Yes; that's all right! Cancel the thing and I'll give you a cheque."
"You admit your liability, then?" Hallam asked.
"Of course! What did you expect? My name's here. It's not my habit to disown my debts."
Hallam did not state what he had expected. He was tactful and was satisfied to get his money. Pulling out a fountain pen, he cancelled the bill and put Kit's cheque in his pocket.
"That is all, I think, and I can get a train if I start at once," he said. "If you should require help to extend your farm or improve your stock, I should be glad if you would apply to me."
"I'm afraid your interest is too high," Kit rejoined with a smile, andHallam bowed to the others and went out.
When he had gone, Osborn turned to Kit, who gave Mrs. Osborn the cancelled bill.
"I don't understand," he said dully. "Why have you come to my rescue?"
"To some extent, it was for Miss Osborn's sake."
"Ah!" said Osborn. "I suppose you have a demand to make now I am in your power?"
"You are not in my power. Mrs. Osborn has the bill, and if you cannot repay me, I won't urge the debt. But there is, so to speak, a stipulation. You must use no pressure to persuade Miss Osborn to marry Mr. Thorn."
"I am not likely to do so," Osborn remarked, dryly. He paused and his face got red as he struggled with his deep-rooted dislike for Kit.
"You have taken a very generous line, Mr. Askew," he resumed. "We have not been friends, but I must confess it looks as if I had been unjust."
Kit smiled. "Luck made us antagonists. However, I hope the antagonism has gone for good, because after all I have something to ask. I must go to London on some business to-morrow, but with your leave I will again call in a week."
"You will find us at home when you do come," Osborn answered with grave politeness, and when Kit got up Mrs. Osborn gave him her hand.
He went out and Osborn, who felt limp now the strain had slackened, leaned back heavily in his chair and looked at his wife.
"The fellow is a working farmer, but he struck just the right note. Well, he has beaten me, and it's easier to be beaten by him than I thought. But he states he's coming back—"
"Yes," said Mrs. Osborn. "I think he means to ask for Grace."
Osborn knitted his brows. "I imagined that was done with. It is one thing to take his help and another to give him Grace. After all, there is not much difference between his plan and Thorn's."
"I expect you will find the difference important," Mrs. Osborn replied with a smile. "He has broken down your unjustified prejudice, and if he is the man I think, he will leave Grace free to refuse—if she likes."
Then she went out, for the strain had been hard to bear, and Osborn sat at the table with his hand tightly closed. He admitted that he had from the beginning been wrong about Kit, but his prejudices were not altogether banished yet.