layed
at make-believe. He talks like a man who knows his value and there's a
touch of distinction in his look; a stupid word, but it comes near
what I mean."

Mrs. Osborn glanced at her sharply, but Grace smiled.

"Don't be disturbed, mother; I am trying to tell you all I think.
We were friends, but I imagine Kit knows his drawbacks from our
point of view. Besides, after father quarreled with Peter Askew I
never sent Kit a message, and he must have thought I acquiesced. In
a way, I did acquiesce; it was the best thing to be done. You see
what this implied? If I had loved him, it meant I had no pluck and
was ashamed to acknowledge a farmer's son. But he knew I did not
love him and understood that our friendship would not bear the
strain of father's disapproval. Either way, it hinted that I was
weak and not worth pursuing. Well, he met me without embarrassment
and we talked about nothing important. I may meet him now and then,
but that, I think, is all."

"Very well," said Mrs. Osborn, who looked relieved. "Perhaps it would be
prudent not to meet him often."

Grace smiled and was silent for a time. She had tried to be frank and
thought she had stated things correctly--so far as she knew. Then she
remembered Kit's look when she stopped and spoke, and began to wonder.
Perhaps she had not told all and the little she had left out was
important. By and by she got up and went into the house.

Gerald Osborn came home next day and not long afterwards Kit found him
lying on the gravel beside a tarn on the Ashness moor. Heavy rain had
fallen, but the clouds had rolled away and the water shone with dazzling
light. The sky was clear except for a bank of mist floating about the
round top of a fell, and a swollen beck sparkled among the heather. The
wind had dropped and it was very hot.

When he heard Kit's steps Gerald looked up. He was a handsome young man,
with some charm of manner, although it was obvious now and then that he
had inherited a touch of his father's pride. His glance was keen and
intelligent, but his mouth and chin were weak. Gerald had talent, but was
very like Osborn, since he was sometimes rashly obstinate and sometimes
vacillating.

"Hallo!" he said. "I expect I ought to have asked your leave before I
came to fish. I hope you don't mind."

"I don't mind. Nobody asks my leave," Kit replied. "Have you had
much luck?"

Gerald opened his creel and showed him a number of small, dark-colored
trout. "Pretty