Carson of Red River by Harold Bindloss — Read

Bleak moors, seamed by dark gullies, enclose Netherdale, and a river, leaping from the peat, breaks on whinstone ledges and plunges into alder-shaded pools. Where the valley widens, larch woods roll up the slopes and Netherhall and its oaks occupy a flat round which the water curves. The house is old and dignified, and belonged to Mrs. Alan Carson. The Carsons were ironmasters, but when Alan married he sold his foundry. For some time the business had not prospered, and Alan was glad to let it go. He was cautious and hesitating, and when he faced obstacles he went another way. As a rule, since his marriage, the way was Mrs. Carson's way.

Four or five hours after Kit left the shipyard, he sat in the grass at Netherhall by Evelyn Haigh's basket chair. He smoked a cigarette and sometimes he talked, but for the most part he was content to look about and study Evelyn. The picture was attractive. For a background, old oaks, tufted by shaggy moss, rolled down to the stream. The leaves were touched by the coppery gleams that mark the oak when summer is young, and blue shadows lurked among the trunks.