Dinner was nearly over at Tarnside.  The meal was served with some ceremony, although the bill of fare was frugal except when game could be shot and, as a rule, nobody but Osborn talked much.  Now he had satisfied his appetite he looked about the spacious room.  The handsome, molded ceiling was dark from neglect and the cornice was stained by damp.  The light of the setting sun streamed in through the long casement window which commanded the shining tarn and the woods that melted into shadow at the mouth of the dale.  It was a noble view, but it did not hold Osborn’s eyes, for the quivering sunbeams searched out the faded spots on the curtains and the worn patches on the rugs on the polished floor.

“We need a number of new things and I don’t know how they’re to be got,” he remarked, and when Mrs. Osborn said nothing knitted his brows.  He had put away some money for renovations, but it had gone.  One could not keep money at Tarnside; it vanished and left nothing to show how it had been spent.

“I understand young Askew is back at Ashness,” he resumed, looking hard at Grace.

“Yes,” said Grace.  “I met him not long since.”

Osborn frowned.  He knew she had met Kit, but did not know if he liked her candor.  The girl was independent, but he thought she now understood the responsibilities of her rank.

“The fellow is obviously prosperous, since he’s spending a large sum on draining.  I saw a big stack of pipes and a number of men at work.  My opinion is it’s a ridiculous waste of money.”

“Perhaps there are worse extravagances,” Grace rejoined.  “I expect he has some hope of getting his money back by growing better crops.  Ours goes and never returns.”

Mrs. Osborn gave her a warning glance.  Osborn hated contradiction and Grace and he often jarred, but the girl smiled.

“Father and I are not going to quarrel about Mr. Askew’s farming; it is not worth while,” she said and studied Osborn with half-penitent sympathy.

The strong light touched his face, forcing up the deep lines and wrinkles, and she thought he was getting older fast.  His eyes were dull and his shoulders were slightly bent.  She knew about some of his troubles and suspected others, but the stamp of indulgence that had got plainer in the last year or two disturbed her.

“The Askews seem fated to give me trouble,” he went on.  “Now the fellow has begun to drain, his neighbors will expect me to do so.  In fact, Black and Pattinson bothered Hayes about some plans for buying pipes when they paid their rent.  Besides, the contrast hurts; I don’t see why a fellow like Askew should be able to waste money on rash experiments when we have not enough.  However, this leads to another matter; Gerald comes back tomorrow, and will no doubt, grumble about his poverty.  If he does, you must give him nothing.  He has his pay and I make him an allowance.  I won’t have his extravagance encouraged.”