'But you have not tried one; I don't believe you ever slept on a feather-bed in your life.'
'Well, I am not going to begin now.'
'We haven't another bed aired, and it is really too late to ask the servants to change your room.'
'Well, then, I shall be obliged to sleep at the hotel in Henfield.'
'You should not speak to your mother in that way; I will not have it.'
'There! you see we are quarrelling already; I did wrong to come home.'
'It was not to please me that you came home. You were afraid if you didn't you mightn't find another tenant for the Beeding farm. You were afraid you might have it on your hands. It was self-interest that brought you home. Don't try to make me believe it wasn't.'
Then the conversation drifted into angry discussion.
'You are not even a J. P., but there will be no difficulty about that; you must make application to the Lord-Lieutenant…. You have not seen any of the county people for years. We'll have the carriage out some day this week, and we'll pay a round of visits.'
'We'll do nothing of the kind. I have no time for visiting; I must get on with my book. I hope to finish my study of St. Augustine before I leave here. I have my books to unpack, and a great deal of reading to get through. I have done no more than glance at the Anglo-Latin. Literature died in France with Gregory of Tours at the end of the sixth century; with St. Gregory the Great, in Italy, at the commencement of the seventh century; in Spain about the same time. And then the Anglo-Saxons became the representatives of the universal literature. All this is most important. I must re-read St. Aldhelm.'