“All at once, father?”
“You know what I mean. This ‘sighing and yearning and clinging and burning’ for one person of the opposite sex is ridiculous—preposterous.”
“I see. If you hadn’t captured mother, any other young woman would have done just as well.”
This disarmed the Squire. He laughed heartily and clapped Lionel on the shoulder.
“That was a good ’un, my boy. Dammy! you stuck me through the heart. But I wasn’t speaking of the quality. It doesn’t do to say it in these democratic times, but, between you and me, our Wiltshire labourers are not far removed from animals. I speak of what I know.”
“And whose fault is that?”
The Squire frowned. It was confounding that his son should ask such questions. He said sharply:
“Have you been talking with Hamlin?”
“I talk with Tom, Dick, and Harry. I want to know what people really think. If it irritates you, father, to discuss the conditions in our own county, I’ll shut up.”
The Squire fumed a little, but he was not ill-pleased. The boy expressed himself well and modestly. And he had inherited from his dear mother an ironical humour which tickled him. Whether, also, he had inherited her tact remained to be seen.