“The landed gentry will go, Lionel, unless necessity forces them to face things as they are, instead of as they were. Father makes hay of the assertion that big properties can’t pay. They can pay, and pay well, if they are handled intelligently, scientifically. Mr. Moxon says just the same.” Lionel laughed a little nervously. “Moxon said that, did he? Probably about this very property? Ah! I thought so. Please go on.” “What applies to our great manufacturing industries, so Mr. Moxon says, applies also to the land question. Manufacturers who refuse to scrap obsolete machinery are scrapped themselves. The inventive genius of this country is marvellous. What made the Germans rich?” “I’m hanged if I know.” “Mr. Moxon told me. A process for reducing refractory iron ores which was invented by an Englishman. This estate has been worked upon the same conservative lines for generations. These lines are worked out.” Her voice died away. Lionel was tremendously impressed. What a clever little woman it was, to be sure! But a jealous pang pierced him. If he could talk, like Moxon——! And how closely she must have listened to the beggar to repeat, as she did, his very words; for he divined that they were not her words. And Moxon was coming back, confound him! He felt absurdly cheap and small, when he compared himself to Moxon. Unable to answer Moxon out of his own pitiful inexperience, he found himself repeating words often in the Squire’s mouth. “Of course, Joyce, this scrapping process is costly. Intensive culture, on any large scale, means a large output of capital. Reconstruction isn’t quite as easy as Moxon thinks.” “You had better talk to Mr. Moxon about that.” “I will. Is—is he coming back soon?” “I don’t know.” As she answered him she blushed. Lionel drew false inferences from that blush. She continued hurriedly: “Anyway, if something isn’t done, and soon, by the country gentlemen, we shall live to see a few immense properties owned by plutocrats, and all the other estates split up into small holdings.” Lionel groaned. “I can’t think of that, Joyce. It tears me horribly. Does your father hope for that?” “No. Father detests slackness and inefficiency, because he knows how terribly they affect others. Labourers, for instance, at the mercy of farmers and landlords, men who can’t be sure of keeping the same roof over their heads. He may be biassed—I don’t know—because he does interest himself in the wrongs of the poor. Shocking cases come to his notice, grievances that cry to Heaven for redress. Not on this property, but even here so much more might be done.” Lionel made no attempt to contradict her. He had heard enough. “We come to grips now, Joyce. What can I do? What ought I to do? We are very old friends, and, listening to you, I realise with mortification that you are far ahead of me because my blinds have been down, and yours up during these last four years. Give me your advice, you dear old thing!”