“Has he? Are you quite sure of that? I would give my life to be sure. He may live long if he marries the right woman. Is Lady Margot the right woman, Sir Geoffrey?” “Yes.” “I wish with all my heart I could think so.” “How can you know all that such a marriage would mean to me, and this big property, and him?” “I have thought of all that, Sir Geoffrey. Indeed, indeed, I have thought of little else since her ladyship first came here. She is a lady of quality——” “Every inch of her.” “And very clever. She would push the fortunes of her husband. There is a barony in abeyance which could be terminated in favour of her son, if she had a son. Her money would lift the mortgage which cripples the estate. Her money would build new cottages, fertilise our thin soil, put farming upon a higher plane, transform Nether-Applewhite into what has been the dream of your life—and mine—a model village.” The Squire stared at him. Fishpingle’s powers of speech had affected him before, but never so convincingly. He said curtly: “You have the gift of the gab, Ben. God knows where you get it from. More, you have the knack of reading my mind, of echoing my thoughts, using the very phrases that are mine.” “Everything I have said is so obvious.” “Obvious? Um! Is that another stab in the back? Well, I am obvious. I despise twisting and wriggling. You have left out the most obvious thing. And I dislike mentioning it. Her little ladyship cottoned to the boy. She wants him, or she did want him, b’ Jove! And now, this girl, this Radical parson’s daughter without a bob, without any breeding, not much better than any blooming, red-cheeked milk-maid, has undone all my work. What cursed spell has she cast?” “Nature cast the spell, Sir Geoffrey.” The Squire began to fume again, frowning and pulling at his ample chin. “Nature——! Aided and abetted by you. Rank sentimentalist you are, and always were. I have the obvious” (the word had rankled) “common sense to scrap sentiment. Do you remember those cows, that half-bred herd I inherited with other disabilities? My lady wanted me to keep them.” “Bless her!” “And you sided with her.” “Did I?” “Of course you did.” Fishpingle smiled faintly. He crossed to one of the tallboys standing in an alcove and pulled open a drawer. The Squire growled. “What are you up to now?” “I want to look at an old diary.” He pulled out half a dozen thin books, selected one, and turned over the pages. The Squire watched him with exasperation. “What dawdling ways!” “Here we are, Sir Geoffrey. Five and twenty years ago, when Master Lionel was short-coated.” “Get forrard, you skirter!” Fishpingle put on his spectacles, and read aloud: “‘Heated argument with the Squire. He and my lady insisted upon keeping our dairy cows. I floored him with the milk returns——’” “Floored me?” Fishpingle continued placidly: “‘—and enjoyed a small triumph. The cows are to be fattened for the butcher, and the dairy will show a profit instead of a loss.’”