But, happily, they could talk together without much heat—a significant sign. What encouraged the young man to persevere was the conviction that the Squire desired, heart and soul, the true welfare of his people. All of them were well housed, well fed, medically supervised—in a word, “protected” against their own ignorance. And Lionel’s ever-increasing conviction that such protection defeated its honest aims was instinctive rather than practical. He had no cut-and-dried scheme of reconstruction to offer to his father, or anybody else. His disabilities oppressed him. As a matter of fact, he did talk with Hamlin, and came away from such talks much discouraged. Hamlin was iconoclastic by temperament and training, a John Knox of a fellow! He advocated sweeping reforms, and after such a clear-up as he demanded Lionel wondered vaguely what would be left. The squires of England might be scrapped! * * * * * At the end of the week Moxon left. If he said anything to Joyce before his departure, the maid kept it to herself. Her friendly aloofness went on puzzling Lionel. She seemed the same jolly pal, but she wasn’t. Something, or somebody, stood between them. It might be Moxon; it might be the Parson, who certainly gave his unpaid curate plenty of work. The fact that she was at work, when he was fishing, riding, and playing golf or tennis, took some zest from these amusements. He said frankly to the Parson: “Why can’t Joyce play about with me, as she used to?” Hamlin answered rather grimly: “Joyce hasn’t stood still.” As he spoke he eyed Lionel sharply, so sharply that the young man felt uncomfortable. Hamlin went on in a very uncompromising tone: “I give my daughter a free hand, Lionel. I trust her absolutely.” “But, of course, sir.” “There is no ‘of course’ about it. She happens to have earned that trust. ‘Playing about with you’ sounds harmless enough, and I trust you unreservedly, too; but tongues will wag in country villages, and I don’t want them wagging about my girl. That’s all.” Lionel accepted this as satisfactory. The Parson had given a hint to Joyce. He smiled pleasantly, so pleasantly that the Parson took his arm and pressed it. “You’re a good fellow, Lionel, but rather dense.” “Thank you, sir. Have another shot.” All the grimness went out of Hamlin’s voice, as he explained: “You are only dense like so many worthy folk, where others are concerned. When I prepared you for confirmation, when we read together before you went up for Sandhurst, I discovered joyfully your modesty. Don’t squirm! We’ll have this out. You’re not the swaggering sort. I’ve never caught you preening yourself. It is quite likely that you are unaware of your attractiveness.” Lionel did squirm, but the Parson held him tightly. “Oh, I say, sir——!”