“I suppose,” said Shelton, glad to postpone the evil moment, “in a climate like this a man must grumble.”
“Quite so, quite so! Look at us poor slaves of land-owners; if I couldn't abuse the farmers I should be wretched. Did you ever see anything finer than this pasture? And they want me to lower their rents!”
And Mr. Dennant's glance satirically wavered, rested on Shelton, and whisked back to the ground as though he had seen something that alarmed him. There was a pause.
“Now for it!” thought the younger man.
Mr. Dennant kept his eyes fixed on his boots.
“If they'd said, now,” he remarked jocosely, “that the frost had nipped the partridges, there 'd have been some sense in it; but what can you expect? They've no consideration, dear souls!”
Shelton took a breath, and, with averted eyes, he hurriedly began:
“It's awfully hard, sir, to—”
Mr. Dennant switched his cane against his shin.
“Yes,” he said, “it 's awfully hard to put up with, but what can a fellow do? One must have farmers. Why, if it was n't for the farmers, there 'd be still a hare or two about the place!”