Osborn stopped him with a savage gesture. His face was deeply flushed and his voice was hoarse as he said: "That is enough. The thing looks impossible! I must try to find out what foundation there is for the ridiculous tale."
"I shall be relieved if you do find it is ridiculous," said Hayes, who went off soon afterwards.
For some minutes Osborn leaned against the mantel with his hands clenched, for he had got a shock. He admitted that the Osborns had some faults, but they were the Tarnside Osborns and had ruled the dale for a very long time. It was something to spring from such a stock, and the wilful girl had disgraced them all. Osborn had suspected Grace of holding dangerous modern views, but it was unthinkably humiliating that she had engaged in a flirtation with a farmer's son.
He had declared the thing impossible, but he feared it was true. Hayes had been very clear about her visit to Railton's, and her coming down Malton Head on Askew's sledge was ominous. She must have been strongly attracted by Kit since she had done a thing like that. Besides, she had obviously sympathized with, and perhaps helped, his plans. This was treachery, because it was a tradition of the Osborns that they stood together.
By and by he heard voices in the hall and braced himself. He must go down to receive his guests and was glad that they had come, since he did not want to tell his wife about the matter yet; in fact, he did not think he would talk to Grace. The thing was humiliating, and there was a possibility that Hayes had been mistaken. Osborn resolved to watch the girl and then insist on a reckoning if she gave him grounds for doing so.
He went down and carried out his hospitable duties. Next morning he arranged for a day's shooting; the snow had nearly gone and there were a few pheasants left in Redmire wood. The party started early, taking their lunch, and in the afternoon Grace left Tarnside and walked down the dale. She had no particular object, but the day was fine and she wondered whether Kit had brought all the peat from Malton Head.
There was no wind and the frost was not keen. Gray clouds trailed across the sky that was touched with yellow in the west, and soft, elusive lights played about the dale. Patches of snow on the fellsides gleamed and faded; mossy belts glowed vivid green, red berries in the hedgerows shone among withered leaves and fern, and then the light passed on and left the valley dim. Something in its calm beauty reacted on the girl and made her thoughtful. She loved the dale and felt that she might be happy there if it were not for her father's poverty and overbearing temperament.
After all, they were not really poor; they had enough to satisfy their needs. Their clinging to out-of-date traditions caused the strain. One gained nothing by pretending to be rich and important; there was no logical reason for trying to live like one's ancestors, and the effort cost the Osborns much. It meant stern private economy, public ostentation, and many small deceits. Grace was getting tired of this pretense; she wanted something simpler and dignified. For the most part, the dalesfolk looked happy and she had come to envy them. They had their troubles, but they were troubles all mankind must bear, and they had joys one did not properly value at Tarnside: human fellowship and sympathy, and freedom to follow their bent. A shepherd's daughter, for example, could marry whom she liked and was not forced to accept a husband who had wealth enough to satisfy her parents.
Grace blushed as she thought of Alan Thorn and contrasted him with Kit. She did not want to marry yet; but perhaps, if Kit were not a working farmer's son—She pulled herself up, with a smile, for it looked as if she had not broken free from the family traditions. After all, it did not matter if Kit were a farmer's son. He was honest and generous; he had a well-modeled figure, bright eyes, and a clean brown skin. But since Kit was not her lover, she was indulging in idle sentiment; and then she admitted that he might love her, although she did not yet love him. Indeed, if she must be honest, the thing was possible—she had seen his face brighten and remarked his satisfaction when they met.
Then she stopped abruptly as she saw him coming down the road. There was a path across a field close by, but it would be admitting too much if she tried to avoid him, and she went on. Kit came up, dressed in rough working clothes, with muddy leggings, and a hedge stick in his hand. Two dogs ran before him and it looked as if he had been driving sheep. Grace was very calm when he took off his cap and he thought the hint of stateliness he sometimes noted was rather marked. It did not daunt him; he, felt it was proper Grace should look like that. She noted that he was hot and breathless.