"Well, as I was saying--what was it I was saying?"

"You were pointing out that a big landowner had a jolly good time, but that he would have to give an account of all the fun he'd had by and by."

"Eh? Well, that wasn't quite how I meant to put it. But you say yourself you are sick of the life you've been leading--and I don't wonder at it--and I wanted to show you that you can gain much more satisfaction by living quietly in the country, and amusing yourself in a healthy way, and doing your duty towards those dependent on you, than by living that unhealthy rackety London life. Look at d.i.c.k. There's no fellow who lived more in the thick of things than he did; but he kept his head through it all, and now the time has come for him to settle down here he's ready to do it, and I should think enjoys his life as much as any man could. It was just the same with me, only I gave it up sooner than he did. I had my two years in the Blues, and then I married and settled down here; and I've never regretted it."

"No, I don't suppose you have. The life suits you down to the ground, and d.i.c.k too. It would suit me if I were in your place, or d.i.c.k's."

"Well, you could easily live the life that d.i.c.k lives, and you would find your money went a good deal further, if you made up your mind to do it. I wish you would. You would be a happier man in every way, and Susan would be a happier woman."

"I'm not sure of that. We might for a time, but we should miss a lot of things. You can amuse yourself in the country well enough half the year, but not all the year round; and we couldn't afford both."

"My dear boy, I've been trying to tell you. You are going on the wrong tack altogether if you are always thinking about amusing yourself. It isn't the way to look at life. Every man has duties to perform."

"What duties should I have to perform? I'm not a landowner, and never likely to be one. If I lived in the country I should hunt a bit and shoot a bit; and for the rest of the time I don't know what I should do."

"Well, if you lived near here, you could be put on the bench. There's a lot of useful work that a man living on the income you have can do in keeping things going. In these times the more gentry there are living in a place, the better it is for the country all round. What do you do as it is? It can't be satisfactory to anybody to live year after year in a whirl. There's not a single thing you do in London that's good for you that you couldn't do better in the country."

"I don't know about that. There's music for one thing, and pictures and plays. I'm not altogether the brainless voluptuary, you know.

There's a lot goes on in London that keeps your mind alive, and you drop that if you bury yourself in the country."

"Stuff and nonsense!" exclaimed the Squire, but with persistent good humour. "Don't I keep my mind alive? You'd have the 'Times' and the 'Spectator'; and there are lots of clever people in the country. Look at Tom! He hardly ever goes near London. Hates the place. But I'll guarantee that he reads as much as any Bishop, and knows what's going on in the world as well as anybody. No, my dear boy, it won't do. I don't say there aren't people it suits to be in London. Herbert Birkett, for instance!" (This was Mrs. Clinton's brother, the Judge.) "But he's been brought up to it. He hasn't got the tastes of a country gentleman, wouldn't be happy away from the Athenaeum Club, and all that sort of thing. And George Senhouse, with his Parliament and his committees and so on. That's a different thing. They've got their work to do. But don't tell me you are like that. Yours is a different life altogether. They spend theirs amongst sober, G.o.d-fearing people--at least George Senhouse does. Of course, Herbert Birkett was a Radical, and I shouldn't like to answer for the morals of all _his_ friends, even now. But, anyhow, they're not the sort that would make a bosom friend of a woman like that Mrs. Amberley."

"Well, I don't know that I should make a bosom friend of her myself.

But she's no worse than a lot of others. She's been found out--that's all--and, of course, the whole pack are in full cry after her now."

"My dear boy, you are surely not going to stand up for a woman convicted of a vulgar theft!"

"She hasn't been convicted yet. But even if she is guilty, as I suppose she is, one can't help feeling a bit sorry for her. You don't know what may have driven her to it. Amberley left her badly off, and it's a desperate thing for a woman to be worried night and day by debt.

That's what Susan feels. She's known it in a sort of way herself. You know the dust-up we had a couple of years ago, when you kindly came to the rescue. Well, I suppose that brings it home to her. She doesn't care for Rachel Amberley any more than I do, but she can't take the line about this business that most people take; and I'm inclined to think she's right. After all--you were talking about religion just now--it seems to me that religion ought to prevent you judging harshly of people who have got into trouble."

The Squire's upper lip went down. "Flagrant dishonesty is not a thing that you can judge leniently, and no religion in the world would tell you to do so," he said. "You've got to keep to certain lines, or everything goes by the board. I don't like to hear you upholding such views."

"It is all a question of how you are situated. It would be impossible to think of you, for instance, stealing anything. You wouldn't have the smallest temptation to. But you might do something else that would be just as bad."

"_I_ might do something just as bad--something dishonourable!"

"You never know. You might have a sudden temptation. Of course, it wouldn't come in any way you expected! You might act on the spur of the moment."

The Squire stopped and faced his son. "That's a very foolish thing to say," he said with a frown. "A man of principle doesn't act dishonourably on the spur of the moment. Doesn't honour count for anything with you?"

Humphrey walked on, and the Squire walked with him.

"I say you don't know what you'd do if an unexpected temptation came.

You don't know how strong your principles are till they are tried."

"They are tried. They are always being tried, in little ways. A man leads an upright life, as far as in him lies, and if a big question comes up, he's ready for it."

"It depends on how much he is tried," said Humphrey. "I say you never know."

CHAPTER VI

THE YOUNG BIRDS

"It's a horrid thing for a young girl to have to go through."

John Spence fitted two walnuts together in the palms of his big hands and cracked them with a sudden tightening of the muscles. His good-humoured ruddy face was solicitous. "I think they ought to have kept her out of it," he said.

The dark-panelled dining-room of the Dower House framed a warm picture of two men and two women sitting at the round table, bright with lights and flowers, old silver and sparkling gla.s.s. A fire of applewood twinkled on the hearth; for September had come round, and one section at least of the young birds, now adolescent, were about to discover for themselves what their elders had possibly warned them of: that those great brown creatures, whom they had hitherto known only as protective census-takers, became as dangerous as stoats and weasels when the dew began to lie thick on the gra.s.s.

John Spence had come down for the first day among the Kencote partridges, leaving his own stubbles, which were more copiously populated, until later. d.i.c.k Clinton had generally started the season with him. The Kencote partridges ranked second to the Kencote pheasants, and could very well bide the convenience of those who were to kill them. But they had done very well this year, and it was becoming less easy to draw d.i.c.k away from his home.

"It's good of old John to put off his own shoot and come down here," he had said to his wife, when he had received the somewhat unexpected acceptance of his invitation.

Virginia had looked at him out of her great dark eyes, and there had been amus.e.m.e.nt in them, as well as the half-protective affection which they always showed towards her handsome husband; but she had said nothing to explain the amus.e.m.e.nt, and he had not noticed it.

The party at the dinner-table was discussing Mrs. Amberley's trial, which was to come on in the following month.

"Joan has got her wits about her," said d.i.c.k. "She answered up very well in the police court, and I don't suppose it will be any more terrible next month."

"Still, I think it's beastly for her," persisted his friend. "That woman--putting it to her publicly about Trench! I read it in the evidence."

"It was a piece of bluff," said d.i.c.k. "Still, she ought to have her neck wrung for it."

"A cat!" said Miss Dexter, Virginia's friend, square-faced and square-figured. "A spiteful, pilfering cat!"

"Poor darling little Joan!" said Virginia. "She hates the very name of Bobby Trench now, and she used to make all sorts of fun of him and his love-making before."

"Oh, he made love to her, did he?" asked Spence.

"Don't talk such nonsense, Virginia," said d.i.c.k maritally. "He knew the twins when they were children; looks on them as children now. So they are. He's years older than Joan."

"Still, she's a very pretty girl," said John Spence. "And so is Nancy."

Virginia laughed. "It's the same thing," she said.

"Well, I don't know," said John Spence judicially. "In appearance, yes--perhaps so. But there is a difference. You see it more now they are grown up. I think Nancy is cleverer. Of course, they're both clever, but I should say Nancy read more books and things. And what I like about Nancy is that with all her brains she's a real good country girl. I must say I don't care about these knowing young women you meet about London, and in other people's houses."

Virginia laughed again. "Tell Mr. Clinton that," she said. "He will think you one of the most sensible of men."

"Well, I don't profess to be a clever fellow myself," said John Spence modestly; "but I like a girl to have brains and know how to use 'em, and I like her to like the country. It's what I like myself; and if Mr. Clinton thinks the same I'm with him all the time."

"Mr. Clinton might not insist upon the brains," said Miss Dexter.

Virginia held up her finger. "Toby!" she said warningly, "we don't criticise our relations-in-law."

d.i.c.k grinned indulgently at his neighbour. "How you'll let us have it when you go away from here!" he said.