‘And it is not only the company and the comfort,’ said the Curate, ‘we feel that dreadfully, my father and I--but there is more than that. If anyone was ill in the village, there was somebody down directly from Mount with beef-tea and wine and whatever was wanted; and if anyone was in trouble, it was always a consolation to tell it to the young ladies, and to hear what they thought. The farmers could not do anything tyrannical, nor the agents be hard upon a tenant--nor anyone,’ cried Charley, with enthusiasm, ‘maltreat anyone else. There was always a court of appeal at Mount.’ ‘My dear fellow,’ said Heathcote, ‘you are thinking of a patriarchal age--you are thinking of something quite obsolete, unmodern, destructive of all political economy.’ ‘_That_ for political economy!’ said the Curate, snapping his fingers; his spirits were rising--even to have someone to grumble to was a consolation. ‘Political anything is very much out of place in a little country parish. What do our poor labourers know about it? They have so very little at the best of times, how are they to go on when they are ill or in trouble, without some one to give them a lift?’ ‘Then they should have more for their work, Ashley. I am afraid it is demoralising that they should be so dependent upon a Squire’s house.’ ‘Who is to give them more?’ cried the Curate, hotly. ‘The farmers have not got so very much themselves; and I never said they were dependent; they are not dependent--they are comfortable enough as a matter of fact. Look at the cottages, you will see how respectable they all are. There is no real distress in our parish--thanks,’ he added, veering round very innocently and unconsciously to the other side of the circle, ‘to Mount.’ ‘We need not argue the point,’ said Heathcote, amused. ‘I am as sorry as you can be that the ladies will not retain possession. What is it to me? I am not rich enough to do all I would, and I don’t know the people as they did. They will never look up to me as they did to my predecessors. I hope my cousins will return at all events in summer. All the same,’ he added, laughing, ‘I am quite illogical’--like you, he would have said, but forbore. ‘I want them to come back, and yet I feel this infection of duty that you speak of. It seems to me that it must be my business to live here henceforward--though I confess to you I think it will be very dismal, and I don’t know what I shall do.’ ‘It will be dismal,’ said the Curate; his face had lighted up for a moment, then rapidly clouded over again. ‘_I_ don’t know what you will do. You that have been always used to a luxurious town life----’ ‘Not so luxurious--and not so exclusively town,’ Heathcote ventured to interpose, feeling a whimsical annoyance at this repetition of his own thoughts.