"I am old enough to be your father," he said; "let me for once speak to you as one. The fault of your character is not so much want of purpose, as the need of one worthy of you—bend those talents which I know you to possess to some definite object, and embark without further delay on some worthy career. What you want is work, which is the salt of existence; the pleasure you take in horses should be for moments of relaxation—a refreshing pause to make your step all the quicker, your mind all the more braced for the serious business of life."
"I shouldn't call the job of schooling and making horses exactly a sinecure," said Chris coldly. "I have work enough and to spare, and it is the work that I love."
Rensslaer shook his head.
"It is because you love it so well that it's play, and it leads nowhere—except over broken hearts," he added in a lower tone, and Chris winced. "Did you see what that German who has lived for thirty years in England says about the deterioration in English character? He speaks of that increasing section of our people, whose guiding principle in life gives the lie to that strenuous rule of sturdy self-denial, and initiative, on which our Empire was founded, and by which alone it can be preserved."
"I suppose no one will deny that there's plenty of self-denial in my profession," said Chris drily.
"As I said before, you do it for your own pleasure," said Rensslaer gravely, "and to others' sorrow. Whether you merely kill, or only mangle yourself, it's self-indulgence pure and simple. Discipline, self-sacrifice for the State's sake, are the qualities that the modern Englishman needs to cultivate. But I'm afraid that selfishness, and an inordinate love of pleasure, with a corresponding contempt for, and hatred of all that savours of restraint, are the prevailing characteristics of the heirs to the most Imperial inheritance that history has ever known."
"And by the State," said Chris quietly, but inwardly furious at having to import Gay's name into the discussion, "I presume you mean Miss Lawless—to whom I am not doing my duty?"
"Yes. Be my land-agent," said Rensslaer abruptly. "There will be a lot of hard work about it, and you'll have to learn the business, but on the other hand, you can have the pick of my stable for riding and driving in the ordinary way—no 'schooling,' which is just as dangerous as steeplechasing, but as much hunting as you choose. If you would think a thousand a year sufficient—and there is a really charming house on the estate that I feel sure Miss Gay would like—"
"You take it for granted Miss Gay would care too," said Chris, the thunder-cloud leaving his brow. "Thank you, sir. It's most awfully good of you—and I know more on Miss Lawless's account than mine—but it's an offer I can't possibly accept."
Yet if Gay were not positively brutal to him nowadays (or so poor Chris expressed it) he would have felt more remorse at throwing away her happiness, and, his passion for horses notwithstanding, what his better self told him was his happiness also.