Grace went to Ashness and found Kit studying some accounts in the room she called his museum.
"Put the books away, come to the fire and talk to me," said Grace, and stopped him when he moved a chair. "I think I'll take the low stool. It's wretchedly cold and I really came to be comforted."
She sat down, leaning against his chair with her head turned so that she could look up, and held her hands to the fire. Kit's heart beat, for Grace had developed recently; her reserve had gone and a curious, frank tenderness had come instead.
"This is very nice," she resumed. "There's something very homelike about Ashness. Perhaps I'm romantic, but I sometimes feel as if your father was still at the old house. It's kind and quiet—like him. Don't you think people can leave an influence, Kit?"
"Yours will last. So far, I haven't had much quietness."
"I'm afraid I've come to bother you again. I hate to bother you, but somehow trouble seems to follow me."
"Your troubles are mine," Kit said and stroked her head. "Tell me about it."
Grace told him, and although he said nothing, waited calmly. His face was thoughtful but the silence was not awkward; she felt that it was marked by an intimate confidence.
"Kit," she resumed at length, "I don't know if you can help, or if you ought. You must decide, dear. I just wanted to tell you, and I'm comforted."
"I can help," Kit answered quietly. "People abroad have paid some debts I didn't expect to get and I'm richer than I thought." He paused and mused for a moment or two. "It's strange the thing should happen now. When I came home I imagined Ashness would occupy all my time, but I soon began to feel I hadn't scope enough. You see, I'd been with Adam and he was a hustler. Well, it looks as if I had found a new field."