At last the tall, red book was shut, the pen wiped, the bureau locked, and Honor came back to her place by the table, and resumed her needlework. Still there was silence, till she began: ‘This settles it! I have been thinking about it ever since you have been so much better. Owen, what should you think of managing the property for me?’
He only answered by a quick interrogative glance.
‘You see,’ she continued, ‘by the help of Brooks, who knew his master’s ways, I have pottered on, to my own wonderment; but Brooks is past work, my downhill-time is coming, high farming has outrun us both, and I know that we are not doing as Humfrey would wish by his inheritance. Now I believe that nothing could be of greater use to me, the people, or the place, than that you should be in charge. We could put some deputy under your control, and contrive for your getting about the fields. I would give you so much a year, so that your boy’s education would be your own doing, and we should be so comfortable.’
Owen leant back, much moved, smiled and said, ‘Thanks, dear Honor; you are much too good to us.’
‘Think about it, and tell me what would be right. Brooks has £100 a year, but you will be worth much more, for you will develop all the resources, you know.’
‘Best Honor, Sweetest Honey,’ said Owen, hastily, the tears rising to his eyes, ‘I cannot bear to frustrate such kind plans, nor seem more ungrateful than I have been already. I will not live on you for nothing longer than I can help; but indeed, this must not be.’
‘Not?’
‘No. There are many reasons against it. In the first place, I know nothing of farming.’
‘You would soon learn.’
‘And vex your dear old spirit with steam-ploughs and haymaking machines.’