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 thought
I 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 about conditions; 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, and
Hallam 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.