Evelyn blushed and gave him a queer smile. “That is something! Since you’re frank, I admit I hate to be frugal, but it looks as if Jasper did not altogether cheat you, and I suppose we must be content. Well, we won’t talk about it. Do you want some tea?”
Ledward said he did not. He thought Evelyn’s inquiry typical, and they went to the garden.
In the morning Kit, at Whinnyates, gave Alison a note in which Jasper stated that if the afternoon were fine he would try to reach the Netherdale inn.
“You agreed to meet me, and although, I doubt if you were very willing, your word goes,” Jasper wrote. “Then I would like you to bring Miss Forsyth. Perhaps I am not entitled to ask this favor, but I cannot get to the farm, and I hope she will indulge me.”
“Perhaps I ought to go,” said Alison. “I feel he’s kind.”
“He’s a queer old fellow. For long I thought he didn’t mean to bother about me, but I begin to doubt. I certainly did not try to win him over.”
“I will go,” said Alison in a thoughtful voice.
In the afternoon they crossed the moors. When they reached Netherdale a man pushed a wheeled chair along the road. A thick larch wood rolled down the hill and the sun was on the fresh green foliage and a high mossy bank. Jasper ordered the man to stop by a large beech trunk.
“Take a smoke and wait until I call,” he said, and when the servant went off turned to Alison.
“You know who I am, and we won’t bother Kit to present me. I did not invite you to Netherhall because the house is not mine, and I dare say you know my nephew’s independence. Then since the spot is quiet and sunny, there is not much use in going on to the inn. You see, I soon get tired.”