If the Squire could be led to see clearly the issues he had raised. If Authority, in fine, could impose its own limitations? Was it possible to answer the stem indictment brought against himself, as steward and butler? Obviously, the Squire considerd his own position to be impregnable. And yet, alas! it was built upon foundations now crumbling away. If such foundations could not be replaced with sound masonry, the great fabric reared upon them would fall in irretrievable ruins, serving, like the feudal castles, as a landmark of the past. He said with dignity: “You are not wrong in that, Sir Geoffrey. I don’t deny these charges.” “Good! You are an honest man, Ben. Acknowledge frankly that your sentiment, your affection for these young people—I include Master Lionel—have warped your judgment and seduced you from your duty and loyalty to me, and, dammy! I’ll wipe out the offence. Come, come!” His tone was genial and persuasive, so kindly that Fishpingle wrestled with the temptation to “creep” and “crane.” Perhaps the thought of Lionel’s “lead” over a stone wall fortified him. He drew back from the proffered right hand of a fellowship he prized inordinately. “What? You refuse?” “You called me honest, Sir Geoffrey. I hope humbly that I am so. I am your butler, but my conscience is my own. I hold firmly to the conviction that you have no right, granting that you possess the power, to interfere with these young lives. I say less than I feel out of the respect and affection I bear you.”