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Updated: May 14, 2025
"Well, you see, the land between Forsyth's and the dale-head is heavily mortgaged, and, taking the two farms with the others, would make a compact block that could be economically worked. The new estate would run down to Tarnside, and since you may find it needful to sell the house, I might make you an offer." "But the consolidation wouldn't help you," Osborn remarked with a puzzled look.
"The next time I come to Tarnside Mr. Osborn will wait for me," he remarked. Hayes made a warning gesture, there were steps in the passage, and Osborn came in. He sat down at the end of the table and looked at his watch. "I can give you about a quarter of an hour," he said. "Perhaps we had better begin."
Osborn was proud of Tarnside, although he sometimes chafed because he had not enough money to care for it as he ought. By and by he glanced at his wife, who had silently filled the cups and was cutting cake. She was a thin, quiet woman, with a hint of reserve in her delicately molded face.
Osborn got up and went out with a dragging step. The blow had left him numb, but as he drove home in the rain he had a hazy notion that Hayes' statements were to some extent justified. He had lived in false security; seeing how things were going and yet refusing to believe. Somehow, it had looked impossible for him to lose Tarnside.
Better safe than sorry, though it's a terrible loss o' time." "Then, why don't you look for an easier way down?" "There's only the oad green road. Fellside's ower steep for horses." "Well, if I can think of a better way I'll tell you," Grace replied, smiling, and hurried on after the others. They left her at the Tarnside gate and she stopped abruptly as she went up the drive.
Things get done when you come on the scene, but perhaps you're nicest when they're done for me. After all, I am an Osborn and would have hated to let Tarnside go; let's plan what we can do when it belongs to us." For a time they engaged in happy talk, but Kit reopened his account books when Grace went home.
He was obviously intelligent, and on the whole she approved his unconventional point of view. Conventional insincerities were the rule at Tarnside. Besides, although it was possible she ought not to talk to the man with such freedom, her foot hurt and the stile made a comfortable seat. She liked to watch the shadows quiver on the stream and hear the current brawl among the stones.
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