They were all sitting on the lawn in the twilight¹.  
Norah had dispensed² afternoon tea with laborious³ energy, ably seconded by Dick, who carried cups and cake, and made himself generally useful. Then they had talked until the sun slipped over the edge of the plain. There was so much to talk of in those days.
 
The Hermit⁴ had been allowed to leave his room a fortnight since. He was still weak, but strength was coming every day—strength that follows on happiness. Norah declared he grew better every day and no one contradicted her.
 
He and his wife sat hand in hand. They were rarely seen any other way—perfect content on each placid⁵ face. Dick lay on the grass at their feet and smoked, and threw stems of buffalo⁶ grass at Norah, who returned them honourably⁷. Mr. Linton, also smoking, surveyed the group with satisfaction.
 
They had been talking over plans for the future, plans which Mr. Linton's masterfulness modified very considerably⁸.
 
“Go away?” he said. “Certainly not! I've engaged your son as tutor to my daughter, and I really can't spare him from the poor neglected child! Then, as you, curiously⁹ enough, don't wish to leave your son, the course is quite clear—you must stay here.”
 
“I'm not going to live on you, Davy.”
 
“You needn't. I'm bitterly in need of someone with a head for figures—a thing I never possessed¹⁰. You can help me tremendously. And, good as dear old Brownie is, I know Norah ought to be with a gentlewoman—to learn the things that aren't in school books. It's the best chance you and I have ever had, isn't it, Norah? We aren't going to let it—or you—slip through our hands.”
 
“It's—it's all very well, Davy, old man—”
 
“I know it is. Now, can't you let well alone, Jim? Talk of it again in five years' time—you may have better luck then. I don't say you will—but you may! Hang it all, man, you're not going to thwart¹¹ me when I've just got my family together!”
 
“Well, I wo............