“At least, he has done no harm.”
“That’s a very negative virtue. It isn’t thought highly of in this country.”
“I told him not long ago that he ought to work,” Ruth replied in unguarded confidence.
“It will be interesting to see if he follows your advice. His friends have been urging the course for several years without much effect.”
“He means to take charge of the Canadian mill; but, of course, he may have a number of reasons for doing so,” Ruth added hastily.
Osborne made no comment. Of late, he had begun to wonder where her friendship for Aynsley would lead, and although it would not have displeased him had she shown any tenderness for the man, he could discover no sign of this.
He went forward to meet his guests, and when they came out of the house a few minutes later Aynsley went straight across the lawn to greet Ruth and Miss Dexter, who had joined her niece, while Clay and Osborne followed a path which led through the pines. Clay was strongly made and burly, with very dark hair and eyes and a somewhat fleshy face. He looked as if he enjoyed good living; but the alertness of his expression redeemed it from sensuality. He had an air of rakish boldness which rather became him, and his careless dress added to this effect. In white Panama hat, well-cut clothes negligently put on, with a heavy gold watch-chain, diamond studs, and a black silk band round his waist, Clay looked more of a swashbuckler than a sober business man. His appearance was not altogether deceptive, for, although he used modern methods with great shrewdness, he had habits and characteristics more in keeping with the romantic ’49.
“Have you held on to those Elk Park building lots?” he asked.
Osborne nodded. “Yes.”
“Still got an option on the adjoining frontage?”