“Then you will admit that Lionel is placed in a false position?”
Fishpingle winced. She had pierced, at the first thrust, the joint in his armour.
“He might be,” he admitted.
“He is in it already. God forbid that direct pressure should be used. The Squire is incapable of that. Because we should not use such pressure, the dear fellow might apply it himself. And if—if, Ben, he happened to fall in love with a charming, penniless girl——”
Her voice died away. Fishpingle tried to read her thoughts and failed helplessly. Did she suspect that there was such an attachment already? After a pause she went on:
“That would be a great trial and disappointment to his father.”
Fishpingle opened his mouth and closed it.
“You know that, Ben, as well as I do. There are many nice girls with money. Sir Geoffrey, poor dear man, is picking and choosing half a dozen such, but our son can be trusted to make his own choice.”
“Yes,” said Fishpingle.
“If you had to choose, Ben, between the selling of that Reynolds and the building land and Lionel’s future happiness would you hesitate a moment?”