Gerald Osborn came home next day and not long afterwards Kit found him lying on the gravel beside a tarn on the Ashness moor.  Heavy rain had fallen, but the clouds had rolled away and the water shone with dazzling light.  The sky was clear except for a bank of mist floating about the round top of a fell, and a swollen beck sparkled among the heather.  The wind had dropped and it was very hot.

When he heard Kit’s steps Gerald looked up.  He was a handsome young man, with some charm of manner, although it was obvious now and then that he had inherited a touch of his father’s pride.  His glance was keen and intelligent, but his mouth and chin were weak.  Gerald had talent, but was very like Osborn, since he was sometimes rashly obstinate and sometimes vacillating.

“Hallo!” he said.  “I expect I ought to have asked your leave before I came to fish.  I hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind.  Nobody asks my leave,” Kit replied.  “Have you had much luck?”

Gerald opened his creel and showed him a number of small, dark-colored trout.  “Pretty good.  They rose well until the light got strong.  Then I thought I’d take a rest.  Will you smoke a cigarette?”

Kit sat down and looked across the shining water at the silver bent-grass that gleamed among vivid green moss on the side of the hill.

“You must find this a pleasant change from town.  Are you staying long?”

“A fortnight; that’s all I get.  I wish I could stop for good.  It’s rot to spend one’s life working in a bank.”

“I suppose one must work at something,” Kit remarked.

“I don’t see why, unless you’re forced.  The only object for working is when you must work to live, and it isn’t mine, because I can’t live on my pay.  In fact, the futility of the thing is plain.”

Kit laughed.  Gerald’s humorous candor was part of his charm, but Kit thought it deceptive.

“Why did you go to the bank, then?”

“Because my father thought I ought.  I expect you know he believes in the firm hand.  I wanted to stop at Tarnside, which would have cost him less.  Besides, I could have looked after the estate.  It will be mine sometime; that is, as much as is left.”

“But Hayes transacts the business.”

“Just so,” said Gerald, rather dryly.  “What do you think about Hayes?”

“He’s your father’s agent and has nothing to do with me.  I imagine he’s a capable manager.”

“I sometimes think he’s too capable.”  Gerald rejoined.

Kit let this go.  Before he went away he had suspected that Hayes had plans his employer would not approve, and he knew Gerald was shrewd.  It was, however, not his business and he remarked:  “You wanted to go to Woolwich, didn’t you?”

“I did not,” Gerald declared.  “As a matter of fact, I said so, but my objections didn’t count.  I might have made a good farmer or land-steward, but a number of us had been soldiers and that was enough.  I don’t know if it was a logical argument, but I had to go, and on the whole it was a relief when they turned me out.  Too many regulations for my independent taste!  Rules are good, perhaps, so long as they’re made for somebody else.”