“No, not Mr Lys, but one better acquainted with the neighbourhood.”
“I’ll know your informant’s name,” said Lord Marney with energy.
“My informant was a woman,” said Egremont.
“Lady Maud, I suppose; second-hand from Mr St Lys.”
“Mv informant was a woman, and one of the people,” said Egremont.
“Some poacher’s drab! I don’t care what women say, high or low, they always exaggerate.”
“The misery of a family who live upon seven or even eight shillings a-week can scarcely be exaggerated.”
“What should you know about it? Did you ever live on seven or eight shillings a-week? What can you know about the people who pass your time at London clubs or in fine country houses? I suppose you want the people to live as they do at a house dinner at Boodle’s. I say that a family can live very well on seven shillings a-week, and on eight shillings very well indeed. The poor are very well off, at least the agricultural poor, very well off indeed. Their incomes are certain, that is a great point, and they have no cares, no anxieties; they always have a resource, they always have the House. People without cares do not require as much food as those whose life entails anxieties. See how long they live! Compare the rate of mortality among them with that of the manufacturing districts. Incendiarism indeed! If there had been a proper rural police, such a thing as incendiarism would never have been heard of!”
There was a pause. Lord Marney dashed off another bumper; Egremont sipped his wine. At length he said, “This argument made me forget the principal reason, George, why I am glad that we are alone together to-day. I am sorry to bore you, but I am bored myself deucedly. I find a letter from my agent. These election accounts must be settled.”
“Why, I thought they were settled.”