"Had we not better change the subject?" she said rather coldly, although there was no look of anger or resentment in her eyes.
"I only wanted to tell you this. It is more than a year since I spoke to you last, and I wished you to know that I have not altered—never shall alter. I love you, and I shall not give up hope of winning you. I know I am not of your way of thinking. To be perfectly frank, I interpret the duties and responsibilities of a landholder differently from you. But I admire you all the same. No doubt you have given a great deal of pleasure by keeping an open house; no doubt, too, your home of rest for a jaded multitude is very fine, but then I have old-fashioned ideas."
Olive laughed gaily. She had almost enjoyed the criticisms which, during the past five years, had been passed upon her work.
"At any rate the house was never used in such a way before," she said.
"Never," said Herbert Briarfield. "The late owner—well, he did not believe in using his home as a sort of hydro, or convalescent establishment."
"No," said Olive, "I suppose he did not, but then one has one's duties."
"Yes, but duty is a word which is interpreted differently by different people. For my own part, I do not see why one should open one's house to everybody. Of course, it is not my business, but don't you think you fulfilled your duty when you built your home of rest?"
"No," said Olive. "The Home of Rest, as you call it, is for strangers, but those I invite here are people I have known. They come here as my personal friends."
"You must have a lot of personal friends."
"I have, and really these last few years have been a revelation to me. I never realised the number of over-worked gentlefolk there were, neither did I ever dream of the amount of gratitude there is in the world."