With this in view he took her out for a walk, a custom of his when he wished to say anything specially impressive.

Their way was over the top of that lofty ridge dividing their woodland from the cider district, whence they had in the spring beheld the miles of apple-trees in bloom.

All was now deep green.

The spot recalled to Grace's mind the last occasion of her presence there, and she said, "The promise of an enormous apple-crop is fulfilling itself, is it not?
I suppose Giles is getting his mills and presses ready." This was just what her father had not come there to talk about.

Without replying he raised his arm, and moved his finger till he fixed it at a point.