“Don’t be profane, sir,” said Bessie, tapping him on the arm. “A Conservative ought never to object to see a great man respected by the masses. When all is said and done, it is riches make the man, you know. It is not birth, or virtue, or learning, but money, for money is power; and what is the meaning of the word aristocracy, but the powerful classes, I should like to know? Consider how many blankets, how many soup tickets, how many donations to hospitals, how much employment Mr. Compton Raidsford’s income represents, and be dumb. We are all worshippers of some golden calf, so let his worshippers kneel down before him, and rest content.”
“I wish to Heaven, Bessie, you were not so infernally clever,” remarked the Squire.
“And I wish to gracious, Arthur, that in some respects you were not so intolerably stupid,” returned the young lady, which observation elicited a statement from Mrs. Ormson, that “she should be glad indeed when Bessie was married, and had a husband to take care of her.”
“Ah! mamma, it is very well for you to talk,” replied Bessie; “but you will be sorry when I am married.”
“I only wish you would give me the chance of being sorry,” observed Mrs. Ormson, pretending not to notice that Arthur was helping her to a second supply of spiced beef. Suddenly, however, becoming aware of the fact, she exclaimed, “My dear boy, when do you think I ate last? You have given me enough to dine a whole family.”
“Never mind, mamma, eat it for me,” said Bessie, from the open window; whereupon Mrs. Ormson bridled, and wondered “what had come to Bessie,” thought “she had been made too much of,” and remarked “she did not envy Gilbert Harcourt.”
“Neither do I, mamma, so for once we are of the same opinion,” said Bessie shortly, at which point Heather deemed it wise to turn the conversation, not sorry on the whole, perhaps, that it had glided off Mr. Raidsford, and Mr. Raidsford’s carriage, and Mr. Raidsford’s considerate attentions to herself.
After a time, also, other tongues began to be heard: Alick had to tell of the offer Lord Kemms had made for “Nellie,” their two-year-old colt.
“I was breaking her yesterday,” he said, “on that piece of ground beyond the Hollow, when his Lordship, riding past, pulled up his horse, and asked me if she was for sale. I told him I did not know, but could ask my brother; and seeing he had taken a fancy to her, I added I did not think he would part with her excepting for a long price.”
“And what do you call a long price, young gentleman?” he inquired, laughing; “so I thought I might as well value her high enough. A hundred guineas, my lord,” I answered.