Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Beginners Projects, Mary Meehan, and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
1918
The morning was bright after heavy rain, and when Osborn looked out ofthe library window a warm, south-west breeze shook the larches aboutTarnside Hall. Now and then a shadow sped across the tarn, darkening theripples that sparkled like silver when the cloud drove on. Osbornfrowned, for he had meant to go fishing and it was a morning when thebig, shy trout would rise. His game-keeper was waiting at the boathouse,but the postman had brought some letters that made him put off his sport.
This was annoying, because Osborn hated to be balked and seldom allowedanything to interfere with his amusements. One letter, from a housemasterat a famous public school, covered a number of bills, which, the writerstated somewhat curtly, ought to have been paid. Another announced thatHayes, the agent for the estate, and a tenant would wait upon Osborn, whoknew what they meant to talk about. He admitted that a landlord hadduties, but his generally demanded attention at an inconvenient time.
Osborn was fifty years of age. He had a ruddy skin and well-proportionedfigure, and was, physically, a rather fine example of the sporting