“Then why doesn’t he live in it?”
“It takes a good deal to keep up a place of this kind, and, until Major Kinnaird came, it’s some time since anybody seriously attempted it.”
“Ah!” said Ida. “Mr. Weston’s means are insufficient?”
“It’s a tolerably open secret. There are a good many people similarly situated. A small and badly-kept estate is not a lucrative possession.”
“Then why don’t they keep it up efficiently?”
“Now,” said Ainslie, “you’re getting at the root of the matter. In my opinion it’s largely a question of character. In fact, after the glimpses I’ve had of the wheat-growers in Dakota, Minnesota, and western Canada, it seems to me that if our people were content to live and work at home as they do out yonder they would acquire at least a moderate prosperity. Still, I’m rather afraid that wouldn’t appeal to some of them. As it is, their wants are increasing, and the means of gratifying them steadily going down.”
“All this applies to Mr. Weston in particular?”
“I don’t think it would be a breach of confidence if I admitted that it does. Perhaps, however, I’m a little prejudiced. Weston doesn’t like me. He blames me for encouraging his son in what he calls his ‘iconoclastic’ notions.”
Ida, who was becoming interested, smiled.
“After all,” she said, “the comparison isn’t very unfavorable to the son. I believe the original iconoclasts were the image-breakers in Byzantium.”