England -- Social life and customs -- 20th century -- Fiction; Families -- Fiction; Mother and child -- Fiction; Political fiction
Presently, to shorten his road, he left the park, and took to a lane
outside it. And here he suddenly perceived that he was on the borders of
the experimental farm, that great glory of the estate, famous in the annals
of English country life before John Betts had ever seen it, but doubly
famous during the twenty years that he had been in charge of it. There was
the thirty-acre field like one vast chessboard, made up of small green
plots; where wheat was being constantly tempted and tried with new soils
and new foods; and farmers from both the old and new worlds would come
eagerly to watch and learn. There were the sheds where wheat was grown,
not in open ground, but in pots under shelter; there was the long range of
buildings devoted to cattle, and all the problems of food; there was the
new chemical laboratory which his father had built for John Betts; and
there in the distance was the pretty dwelling-house which now sheltered the
woman from whose presence on the estate all the trouble had arisen.
A trouble which had been greatly aggravated by Coryston's presence on the
scene. Newbury, for all that his heart was full of Marcia, was none the
less sorely indignant with her brother, eager to have it out with him, and
to fling back his charges in his face.
Suddenly, a form appeared behind a gate flanked by high hedges.
Newbury recognized John Betts. A tall, broad-shouldered man, with slightly
grizzled hair, a countenance tanned and seamed by long exposure, and
pale-blue spectacled eyes, opened the gate and stepped into the road.
"I saw you coming, Mr. Edward, and thought I should like a word with you."
"By all means," said Newbury, offering his hand. But Betts took no notice
of it. They moved on together--a striking pair: the younger man, with his
high, narrow brow and strong though slender build, bearing himself with the
unconscious air of authority, given by the military life, and in this case
also, no doubt, by the influence of birth and tradition; as fine a specimen
of the English ruling class at its moral and physical best, as any student
of our social life would be likely to discover; and beside him a figure
round whom the earth-life in its primitive strength seemed to be still
clinging, though the great brain of the man had long since made him its
master and catechist, and not, like the ordinary man of the fields, farmer
or laborer, its slave. He, too, was typical of his class, of that large
modern class of the new countryman, armed by science and a precise
knowledge, which has been developed from the primitive artists of the
world--plowman, reaper, herdsman; who understood nothing and discovered
everything. A strong, taciturn, slightly slouching fellow; vouched for
by the quiet blue eyes, and their honest look; at this moment, however,
clouded by a frown of distress. And between the two men there lay the
memory of years of kindly intercourse--friendship, loyalty, just dealing.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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