Well, the Squire's dinners were truly excellent, and when afterwards the men-folk joined the ladies in the big drawing-room, the evenings flew away so quickly that, as carriage time came, nobody could ever believe it was anything like so late.
The question of what the Squire had been previously to his coming to Burley was sometimes asked by comparative strangers, but as nobody could or cared to answer explicitly, it was let drop. Something in the South, in or about London, or Deal, or Dover, but what did it matter? he was "a jolly good fellow—aye, and a gentleman every inch." Such was the verdict.
A gentleman the Squire undoubtedly was, though not quite the type of build, either in body or mind, of the tall, bony, and burly men of the North—men descended from a race of ever-unconquered soldiers, and probably more akin to the Scotch than the English.
Sitting here in the green parlour to-night, with the firelight playing on his smiling face as he talked to or teased his eldest boy, Squire Broadbent was seen to advantage. Not big in body, and rather round than angular, inclining even to the portly, with a frank, rosy face and a bold blue eye, you could not have been in his company ten minutes without feeling sorry you had not known him all his life.
Amiability was the chief characteristic of Mrs. Broadbent. She was a refined and genuine English lady. There is little more to say after that.
But what about the Squire's new fangled notions? Well, they were really what they call "fads" now-a-days, or, taken collectively, they were one gigantic fad. Although he had never been in the agricultural interest before he became Squire, even while in city chambers theoretical farming had been his pet study, and he made no secret of it to his fellow-men.
"This uncle of mine," he would say, "whom I go to see every Christmas, is pretty old, and I'm his heir. Mind," he would add, "he is a genuine, good man, and I'll be genuinely sorry for him when he goes under. But that is the way of the world, and then I'll have my fling. My uncle hasn't done the best for his land; he has been content to go—not run; there is little running about the dear old boy—in the same groove as his fathers, but I'm going to cut out a new one."
The week that the then Mr. Broadbent was in the habit of spending with his uncle, in the festive season, was not the only holiday he took in the year. No; for regularly as the month of April came round, he started for the States of America, and England saw no more of him till well on in June, by which time the hot weather had driven him home.
But he swore by the Yankees; that is, he would have sworn by them, had he sworn at all. The Yankees in Mr. Broadbent's opinion were far ahead of the English in everything pertaining to the economy of life, and the best manner of living. He was too much of a John Bull to admit that the Americans possessed any superiority over this tight little isle, in the matter of either politics or knowledge of warfare. England always had been, and always would be, mistress of the seas, and master of and over every country with a foreshore on it. "But," he would say, "look at the Yanks as inventors. Why, sir, they beat us in everything from button-hook——Look at them as farmers, especially as wheat growers and fruit raisers. They are as far above Englishmen, with their insular prejudices, and insular dread of taking a step forward for fear of going into a hole, as a Berkshire steam ploughman is ahead of a Skyeman with his wooden turf-turner. And look at them at home round their own firesides, or look at their houses outside and in, and you will have some faint notion of what comfort combined with luxury really means."
It will be observed that Mr. Broadbent had a bold, straightforward way of talking to his peers. He really had, and it will be seen presently that he had, "the courage of his own convictions," to use a hackneyed phrase.