Osmond too stared, but not at him. He was wondering whether Peter could possibly fail to see that the money, all these years, had not come by favor, that it had been earned by Osmond's own arduous grappling with the earth, that struggle out of which the man had gained strength and the earth had yielded her fruits. "You see, boy," he hesitated, "there isn't anything but the place, and that's grannie's." "Yes, but the place earns something." "Not without a good deal put into it." "Ah!" Peter drew a breath of pure surprise. "You're tired of overseeing, old boy. I don't wonder. Of course you must let up." Again Osmond waited, not so much to commune with himself as from sheer disinclination to face the awkwardness of speech. It was impossible to say, "I am not tired of serving you, but you must not be served. You must carry your pack." "You see," he began again, "the place must stand intact while grannie lives. After that, we don't know. But now--Pete, you must paint your pictures." "Of course!" But the response was wavering. Peter smiled radiantly. "Come, old chap," he said, "you're not going to make rules for me, because it's better for the white man to bear his burden." Osmond, too, tried to smile, and failed in it. "I don't know but I am," he said, with a wry face. "Pete, I want you to go in and conquer--earn your fame, earn your bread. I don't want you to depend on anybody, even on me." Peter was wrinkling his brows. He was delightfully good-tempered, and money meant very little to him save as a useful medium of which there was sure to be enough. He had never regarded it as a means of moral discipline. "That's very awkward," he said, "because--Osmond, I want to marry." "To marry! You said she had given you up!" "Oh, Electra!" That issue had withdrawn into a dim past. "Osmond, I have spoken to Rose." "Rose!" Now again Osmond felt the blood beating in his ears. Was it the impulse of fight, he asked himself, or another, as savage? But this time he did not mean to be overborne. Peter was speaking simply and boyishly, with a great sincerity. "I see now there never was anybody but Rose, from the minute we met. I told her yesterday." "So you are--engaged." Osmond brought out the commonplace word with a cold emphasis. Peter looked at him, surprised. "No. She's not to be had for the asking. I had to tell her. But I've got to earn her. If you knew her as I do, you'd see that." Osmond's brain was in a maze of longing to hear what she had said, and with it a fierce desire to escape that knowledge. Also he was overborne by a passionate recoil from his own suggestion of cutting off his brother's income. At least he might have some share in their happiness. He could work here like a gnome underground, delving for the gold to deck their bridal. And underneath was that new pain at the heart: that earth pang so sickening that it might well threaten to stop the heart's beating altogether.