But Vane only smiled at her gravely and did not answer. Here were the views, crudely expressed, perhaps, of the ordinary landed gentleman. The man who of all others most typically represented feudalism. Benevolent, perhaps--but feudalism. . . . The old order. "They talk about 'back to the land,'" snorted Sir James suddenly, "as the sovereign cure for all evils. You can take it from me, Vane, that except in a few isolated localities the system of small holdings is utterly uneconomical and unsuccessful. It means ceaseless work, and a mere pittance in return. You know Northern France--well, you've got the small holdings scheme in full blast there. What time do they get up in the morning; what time do they go to bed at night? What do they live on? And from what you know of your own fellow countrymen, do you think any large percentage would tackle such a life? Believe me, these days, none of us want to keep land very much." Sir James frowned slightly. "Unless one has old family traditions. . . . And even those will have to go by the board--sooner or later. . . . It doesn't pay, Vane, you can take it from me. . . . And to split it up into small holdings, and invite men of varying degrees of inefficiency to earn a livelihood on it, won't help matters." Sir James pushed back his chair and they rose from the table. "I have victimised you enough, my dear boy," he remarked. "I think Joan had better carry on the good work." She put her arm round his waist, and her father looked down at her lovingly. "What are you going to do with him, old lady?" "Are you busy, Dad, this afternoon?" she asked. Sir James nodded, and he seemed to Vane to have grown very old. "The old order is changing--what are they going to put in its place? . . ." A sudden fear caught him in its grip. He turned quickly and stared out of the window; at the wonderful bit of England that lay before him. Quiet and smiling in the warm sun, it lay there--a symbol of the thing for which Englishmen have laid down their lives since time started. At that very second men were dying for it--over the water. Was it all to be in vain? "Yes, girlie," Sir James was speaking. "I've got a lot of business to attend to. That wretched fellow Norton can't pay his rent again. . . ." "Oh! Dad, he is a bit steep," cried the girl. "That's the third time." Sir James laughed. "I know, my dear; but things are bad. After all, he has lost one of his sons in Mesopotamia." "A drunken waster," cried the girl. "He died, Joan," said her father simply. "No man may do more." "You're too kind-hearted, Dad," she said, patting his arm, and looking up into his face. "I wouldn't be." Sir James laughed. "Oh! yes, you would. Besides, I sha'n't have a chance much longer." With a quick sigh, he bent and kissed her. "Run along and take Vane out on the lake. I'll come down later and shout at you from the bank." She watched her father leave the room, and then she turned to Vane.