“Well, Heather, I really wonder at you,” said Squire Dudley, laying down his knife and fork; “I did think you had more sense of what was due to yourself and to me than to accept a favour at the hands of such an arrant snob as Compton Raidsford, a man who looks down upon us all, who thinks more of his hundreds of thousands than of having come of an ancient family, of having good blood in one’s veins.” “That’s right, Arthur; that’s what brings down the galleries,” remarked Bessie. “Go on. In this money-loving age——” “Oh! of course you stand up for trade,” retorted Arthur. “Of course, I think so I ought, when every morsel I put in my lips, every article of clothing I put on my back, is paid for by trade.” “Bessie,” interposed Mrs. Ormson, “how often am I to tell you it is not polite to speak of personal matters in general society?” “If this be general society, I sit rebuked,” said Bessie, while Heather pleaded— “Without downright rudeness I could not have refused Mr. Raidsford’s offer, Arthur. I could not, indeed. He was so very kind and pressing, so cordial, in fact, that I felt it would be ungracious to decline. Would it have been possible to refuse? Mrs. Ormson, do you think it would?” “On the contrary, I consider it would have been the height, as you say, of rudeness,” replied that lady, for once deciding against the Squire. “And, for my part, I think Mr. Raidsford a most gentlemanly person, quite above his origin. I can assure you, I never enjoyed a journey more in my life, and the drive from Palinsbridge was delightful. And to see how every one touched their hats to him,” finished Mrs. Ormson, forgetting in her enthusiasm that such a person as Lindley Murray had ever existed. “Touch their hats, indeed!” repeated Arthur, with a muttered oath. “Don’t be profane, sir,” said Bessie, tapping him on the arm. “A Conservative ought never to object to see a great man respected by the masses. When all is said and done, it is riches make the man, you know. It is not birth, or virtue, or learning, but money, for money is power; and what is the meaning of the word aristocracy, but the powerful classes, I should like to know? Consider how many blankets, how many soup tickets, how many donations to hospitals, how much employment Mr. Compton Raidsford’s income represents, and be dumb. We are all worshippers of some golden calf, so let his worshippers kneel down before him, and rest content.” “I wish to Heaven, Bessie, you were not so infernally clever,” remarked the Squire. “And I wish to gracious, Arthur, that in some respects you were not so intolerably stupid,” returned the young lady, which observation elicited a statement from Mrs. Ormson, that “she should be glad indeed when Bessie was married, and had a husband to take care of her.” “Ah! mamma, it is very well for you to talk,” replied Bessie; “but you will be sorry when I am married.”