Variable Winds at Jalna. Mazo de la Roche

whether this Irishman’s love were of the enduring sort — whether he would settle down comfortably at Jalna — and also, with concentrated interest, how much money he had. Well, surely a man had a right to know what were his future son-in-law’s prospects. He said:

      “I hope you did well in the sale of your property.”

      Fitzturgis gave an audible sigh. “Not too well. Not as well as I’d hoped. Still, there is enough to support my mother and my sister. Later on, my sister hopes to get work in New York.”

      “You could find no better investment for your money,” said Renny, “than the stables at Jalna. I’ve done very well in the past few years, but I need more capital. There is a good deal of money to be made from show horses and racehorses. They have become the rich man’s plaything. I have a friend named Crowdy, who owned just one racehorse but it turned out to be a good one. He not only made a lot of prize money, but he lately sold the horse to a millionaire for a fancy price.”

      “I warned you,” said Fitzturgis, “that I am a poor man. But I look forward to working for Adeline.”

      “Good,” said Renny, and a silence fell, broken by the incessant lowing of a cow. “They’ve taken her calf, poor thing,” he added.

      Fitzturgis said, “My brother-in-law can get me a job in New York, in advertising.”

      Renny Whiteoak looked blank, then repeated, “In advertising,” as though he wondered what that might be.

      “Yes,” said Fitzturgis. “He thinks I could get the hang of it before long.”

      “What makes him think so?”

      “Well ... I suppose I have average intelligence.”

      Renny said, with severity, “I am surprised at your brother-in-law, for I can tell you from the little I’ve seen of you that you wouldn’t do at all.”

      Fitzturgis looked stubborn. He said, “My brother-in-law ought to know.”

      “Yes. That is why I’m surprised that he doesn’t.”

      Amber light flickered in the glasses they raised to their lips, as sharp antagonism flickered for an instant in their eyes.

      Fitzturgis spoke first, and with warmth. “You must understand, Mr. Whiteoak, that I should like to come to Jalna, but I don’t want to come as a sham horseman. I know little about show horses. I know nothing of farming in Canada. I don’t want you to be disappointed in me, that’s all.”

      “If that’s all,” exclaimed Renny, “we have nothing to worry about. You’ll learn. And let me tell you — if Adeline hasn’t — she would never go to New York. She hates city life.”

      “I know.”

      “She was born and bred in the country. She was in the saddle almost as soon as she could walk.”

      “I know.”

      “If money is a little scarce we still shall have plenty of room. We used to have a family of ten at Jalna and all very happy.” He bent his expressive brows in reminiscent thought.

      “Adeline has told me. But — I’m certain of one thing, and that is that, when we marry we must have a place of our own. That’s something I have set my heart on.”

      “Has Adeline set her heart on it?”

      “I think so.”

      “She’s never mentioned it to me. I think she certainly would have mentioned it to me if she’d set her heart on it.”

      “Well, as a matter of fact we have not talked of that.”

      “I see. Then supposing we decide nothing till we find out what she feels.”

      Fitzturgis broke out, “No matter what she feels, I must have a roof of my own.”

      “In that case,” Renny said cheerfully, “I know the very house for you. Nice small houses are difficult to get, you know. But my sister Meg Vaughan is going to move and I’m sure she’d let you have her house — either to buy or rent — very reasonably. She and Patience are going to live with my brother Finch, who has built himself a house just beyond the ravine. He’s built on the site of one that was burned down, and there was so much delay in getting the rubble cleared away and getting a builder to undertake the job and in Finch’s not being able to decide on the sort of house he wanted, that it is only now it’s ready for him. I don’t like the looks of it myself — a sort of Californian design that isn’t suited to our Northern country — but it’s what he chose and he’s got to live in it. Now tonight we’re going to dinner with Meg, and you’ll find out what she thinks about your taking her house. When do you and Adeline want to get married?”

      Fitzturgis answered defensively, “We haven’t decided on a time yet.” Then he added, “So far as I am concerned the sooner the better.”

      As he returned to the house he had the feeling that his affairs were being taken out of his hands. In a way this suited him, for he was inclined to indolence; he was in a strange country; he was committed to a new and different life. On the other hand he resented what he felt to be the somewhat arrogant tone of the Master of Jalna. He wondered if it was a good combination, this combining of father-in-law and employer in the one person.

      Adeline came across the lawn to meet him, carrying roses she had just been cutting.

      “Aren’t they sweet!” she exclaimed, holding them to his face. “They’re just the old-fashioned crumply sort without a name, but I love them.”

      “It’s wonderful to see you,” he said, “here in your own setting, with flowers from your own garden in your hands.”

      “It is your garden too,” she said, conscious of something in him that needed reassurance.

      He took her hand and they walked together to a seat that encircled an old silver-birch tree. The sun beat down hotly on the grass.

      “The grass,” he said, “is a different colour.”

      “Yes, I know.” She spoke apologetically. “It’s not so green.” Then, her eager eyes on his, she asked, “Did you enjoy your morning with Daddy? And what do you think of Jalna?”

      “Oh, I like it.” He spoke warmly, but he did not go into the details she wanted. They sat silent a space, watching a squirrel dig a hole in the grass, find something to its liking, then deftly extract it and sit up nibbling it.

      “The wild things here are so tame,” he said; then added, “I had a talk with your father — in his office.”

      She laughed gaily. “Oh, I wish I’d been there!”

      “Why?” he asked abruptly.

      “Because you are the two men I love best in all the world. It fascinates me to see your reactions to each other.”

      “They might not have been altogether pleasing to you,” said Fitzturgis. “My ideas are different from what he seemed to expect and I find it hard to understand him.”

      “Once you do you wouldn’t want him different. I think we all feel that way about him — except perhaps Mummy.”

      “I can imagine she would.”

      “It’s funny you’d feel that — so soon.”

      Fitzturgis said sombrely, “Your father and I should have arranged everything before I came out.”

      Her eyebrows flew up. “Why, I thought you and I had. We corresponded for two years.”

      “What about?” he demanded, seeing his reflection in the dark depths of her eyes, noticing a tiny mole near one of them.

      “About how we wished we might be together, and I told you all the news from Jalna.”

      “And I have made it clear that I am a poor man. I mean that I have nothing to invest. You know that my mother