“Oh, Father,” said Teresa, awestruck. “Wasn’t she in love with you?”
“Not a bit of it,” he replied.
“I wish she had married a poor man, then,” said the girl. “It would have saved me a lot of trouble. But to go back to what you said. I couldn’t help being born where I am, but I can give back everything I have got. It makes it worse to marry into a lot more luxury.”
“How much do you think your friends in the fog would give back to you if they dropped into a soft job?” he asked.
“That has nothing to do with it.”
“Yes, it has. It means that they go with the stream and don’t drown themselves trying to dam it up with a bunch of flowers. Keep those damned hucksters out of Aldwych and keep it the decent civilised place it was; and breed young Davids to counteract the pernicious spawning of Millport. You’ll be far better employed. You can invite all the young Potters to tea and show them what they may attain by thrift instead of greed. They’ll only think you a damned fool and not listen to a word of good advice.”
Teresa was silent.
“They would take the place off you to-morrow if they could and say you weren’t fit to appreciate it. And they would undo the work of centuries that have been spent on it and turn it into a hell of their own.”
“They wouldn’t. They would want to become gentle people and build it up again in their own way.”
“Rot,” said Cyril. “Much better keep it as a model instead of wasting it all first. You must keep something in the show room. It is no good for everybody who wants an airship to destroy all there are and begin again by himself with a glider.”