“Excuse me, but I am afraid I am ignorant concerning Mostyn politics. I take little interest in the English parties.”
“Naturally. Well, I hope you will take an interest in my affairs and give me your advice about the sale of Rawdon Court.”
“I think my advice would be useless. In the first place, I never saw the Court. My father had an old picture of it, which has somehow disappeared since his death, but I cannot say that even this picture interested me at all. You know I am an American, born on the soil, and very proud of it. Then, as you are acquainted with all the ins and outs of the difficulties and embarrassments, and I know nothing at all about them, you would hardly be foolish enough to take my opinion against your own. I suppose the Squire is in favor of your buying the Court?”
“I never named the subject to him. I thought perhaps he might have written to you on the matter. You are the last male of the house in that line.”
“He has never written to me about the Court. Then, I am not the last male. From what you say, I think the Tyrrel-Rawdons could easily supply an heir to Rawdon.”
“That is the thing to be avoided. It would be a great offense to the county families.”
“Why should they be considered? A Rawdon is always a Rawdon.”
“But a cotton spinner, sir! A mere mill-owner!”
“Well, I do not feel with you and the other county people in that respect. I think a cotton spinner, giving bread to a thousand families, is a vastly more respectable and important man than a fox-hunting, idle landlord. A mill-owning Rawdon might do a deal of good in the sleepy old village of Monk-Rawdon.”
“Your sentiments are American, not English, sir.”