“How can I criticise him to you? It seems such impertinence.”
“Joyce, if you are a true friend, you will say everything that is in your heart.”
“Everything? Hardly! I am skating over thin ice. Has your father’s work for others really helped them? Has it not taken the form of charity? Doesn’t it make his people more dependent upon him? Doesn’t it lead to helplessness in the end?”
“Joyce, dear, I believe it does. What would you have him do?”
“Him? If I could speak impersonally! Your father is not likely to alter much, unless he went through some great character-changing experience. The labourers in Wiltshire will remain much as they are so long as the squires remain as they are. What is needed is a shining example. The greatest thing that could happen, and which may happen, would be the object-lesson of science triumphant over our thin soil. The land owner who makes his land pay handsomely will do more for his people than all the District and Parish Councils put together.”
Lionel said humbly:
“I suppose that is undiluted Moxon?”
“Yes.”
“I thought so. I like him, Joyce. He is a fine fellow. I—I hate to tell you, but I’ve been a snob about Moxon, and listening to you I wish, with all my heart, that I were Moxon.”
“Do you?” She hesitated. Then she said slowly, “I am glad that you are just—you.”