It began to be noticed at the Woolpack that Joanna was losing heart. "She's lost her spring," they said in the bar--"she's got all she wanted, and now she's feeling dull"--"she's never had what she wanted and now she's feeling tired"--"her sister's beat her and parson's beat her--she can't be properly herself." There was some talk about making her an honorary member of the Farmers' Club, but it never got beyond talk--the traditions of that exclusive body were too strong to admit her even now. To Joanna it seemed as if life had newly and powerfully armed itself against her. Her love for Ellen was making her soft, she was letting her sister rule. And not only at home but abroad she was losing her power. Both Church and State had taken to themselves new arrogances. The Church had lost its comfortable atmosphere of Sunday beef--and now the State, which hitherto had existed only for that most excellent purpose of making people behave themselves, had lifted itself up against Joanna Godden. Lloyd George's Finance Act had caught her in its toils, she was being overwhelmed with terrible forms and schedules, searching into her profits, making strange inquiries as to minerals, muddling her with long words. Then out of all the muddle and welter finally emerged the startling fact that the Government expected to have twenty per cent. of her profits on the sale of Donkey Street. She was indignant and furious. She considered that the Government had been grossly treacherous, unjust, and disrespectful to poor Arthur's memory. It was Arthur who had done so well with his land that she had been able to sell it to Honisett at such a valiant price. She had spent all the money on improvements, too--she was not like some people who bought motor-cars and took trips to Paris. She had not bought a motor-car but a motor-plough, the only one in the district--the Government could come and see it themselves if they liked. It was well worth looking at. Thus she delivered herself to young Edward Huxtable, who now managed his father's business at Rye. "But I'm afraid it's all fair and square, Miss Joanna," said her lawyer--"there's no doubt about the land's value or what you sold it for, and I don't see that you are entitled to any exemption." "Why not?--If I'm not entitled, who is?" Joanna sat looking very large and flushed in the Huxtable office in Watchbell Street. She felt almost on the verge of tears, for it seemed to her that she was the victim of the grossest injustice which also involved the grossest disrespect to poor Arthur, who would turn in his grave if he knew that the Government were trying to take his legacy from her. "What are lawyers for?" she continued hotly. "You can turn most things inside out--why can't you do this? Can't I go to County Court about it?"