“Yes,” said Mr. Wilmot, “those Riverses are open-handed. They really seem to have so much money, that they don’t know what to do with it. My brother is ready to complain that they spoil his parish. It is all meant so well, and they are so kind-hearted and excellent, that it is a shame to find fault, and I tell Charles and his wife that their grumbling at such a squire proves them the most spoiled of all.”
“Indiscriminate liberality?” asked the doctor. “I should guess the old gentleman to be rather soft!”
“That’s one thing. The parish is so small, and there are so few to shower all this bounty on, and they are so utterly unused to country people. They seem to think by laying out money they can get a show set of peasants in rustic cottages, just as they have their fancy cows and poultry—all that offends the eye out of the way.”
“Making it a matter of taste,” said the doctor.
“I’m sure I would,” said Norman aside to Ethel. “What’s the use of getting oneself disgusted?”
“One must not begin with showing dislike,” began Ethel, “or—”
“Ay—you like rags, don’t you? but hush!”
“That is just what I should expect of Mr. Rivers,” said Dr. May; “he has cultivated his taste till it is getting to be a disease, but his daughter has no lack of wit.”
“Perhaps not. Charles and Mary are very fond of her, but she is entirely inexperienced, and that is a serious thing with so much money to throw about. She pays people for sending their children to school, and keeping their houses tidy; and there is so much given away, that it is enough to take away all independence and motive for exertion. The people speculate on it, and take it as a right; by-and-by there will be a reaction—she will find out she is imposed upon, take offence, and for the rest of her life will go about saying how ungrateful the poor are!”
“It is a pity good people won’t have a little common-sense,” said Dr. May. “But there’s something so bewitching in that little girl, that I can’t give her up. I verily believe she will right herself.”