Olive did not speak.
"When matters turned out as they did, I was almost glad that I had not bought it; but among the letters which Mr. Sackville brought down to us a little while ago was this."
He handed her a letter as he spoke. As she read, a look of interest came into her eyes, which her father noted with pleasure.
"It is a beautiful place," went on John Castlemaine, "and situated in the loveliest part of Devonshire. The house stands high, and the climate, so I am told, is the finest in England. The neighbourhood has been frequently recommended by the doctors for its healthfulness."
In spite of herself she was interested.
"You have visited it, have you, father?" she said.
"Yes, I spent two days there some time ago. In its way, the estate is unique. It is very large, and most of the land is very fertile; but there is a large tract of moorland, where there is some very fine shooting. The late owner neglected it terribly. There is a large village which is very squalid, and wretched. You see, neither the squire nor the parson cared for it. The former refused to spend a penny on the estate, while the latter—well, he belongs to that class which is happily growing less and less in the English Church—that class which cares far more about fox-hunting than his parish work. As a consequence the people have become drunken, thriftless, godless."
"But I thought the Free Churches were strong in Devonshire. Is there no village chapel?"
John Castlemaine shook his head.
"The late squire owned the parish, and would not allow a chapel to be built. If any of the people were to go to a dissenting chapel—well, I need not go on. I only mention the fact to show you that there is need for the influence of such a girl as you, Olive. Would you not like to be Lady Bountiful in a Devonshire village, Olive?"