Mowbray's eyes flashed with anger.
"No! If we are to be ruined, I hope we'll meet our fate like gentlemen—and it may not come to that. We have struggled through critical periods before, and can make a good fight yet without using detestable means."
Beatrice was troubled. She admired her father's pride and courage, but she had an uncomfortable suspicion that he was leading a forlorn hope. Unflinching bravery was not the only thing needful: one could not face long odds with obsolete weapons.
"But they are not all detestable," she urged. "You could choose the best—or, if you like, the least offensive."
"Compromise is dangerously easy; when you begin, you are apt to go all the way. I didn't expect this from you. I believed my own family staunch, and I must say it's a shock to find the tradesman's spirit in my children. Even Lance shows the taint. He actually is planning to sell his riding horses and buy some machine that will save a hired man's wages!"
Beatrice smiled.
"Perhaps that is better than following Gerald's example. But you mustn't be unjust. You know that none of us would think of thwarting you."
She crossed over to the back of his chair and put her arms around him.
"I'm sorry you are disappointed about Mr. Brand," she said softly; "but I know you'll forgive me."
Before he could answer, she had slipped out of the room. She went at once to find her mother.