“The Trevors have very little,” said Lady Markham. “Sir William is the chief proprietor. But they are a very good family. Admiral Trevor—you must have heard of him—was once a popular hero. He did a great many daring things I have heard, but fame gets forgotten like other things. He lives very quietly now, an old man——”
“The oldest man that ever was,” said Alice. “Fancy, it was in Napoleon’s time he was so famous—the great Napoleon—before even old people were born.”
“Before I was born,” said Lady Markham, with her soft laugh; “that is something like saying before the Flood. Then there is the vicar, of course, and a few people of less importance. It is easy to go over a country neighbourhood.”
“And what do you call the people in all these cottages, my lady? The world was not made for them as it is for you. These would be the neighbours I should think of. When I hear of your three families in the parish, I wonder what all these roofs mean. Are they not flesh and blood too? Don’t they live and have things happen to them as well as you fine folks? If they were cleared away out of the place, what would become of your parish, my lady? Could you get on all the same without them that you make no account of them? These are the houses where I should feel at home, among the poor cottagers whom you don’t even know about——”
“Mamma—not know about them!” cried Alice. “Why, it is our own village! Do you think because it is a mile away that makes any difference? Why, it is our own village, Mr. Spears.”
“I dare say,” said the revolutionary—“your own village. Perhaps they pay you rent for suffering them to live there, and allowing them to do all the work of the world and keep everything going——”
“Hush, Alice,” said Lady Markham. “Perhaps Mr. Spears does not understand a little country village. They are often not at all fond of doing the work, and they do not much like to pay their rent; but we know them very well for that matter. I could tell you all about them, every house. To be sure we have not the same kind of intercourse with them as with our equals.”
“Ah, that is the whole question, Lady Markham. Pardon me; I am not your equal, and yet you let me sit in your fine carriage and talk to you. No, I am not a bit humble; I feel myself the equal of any man. There is nobody in the world whom I will acknowledge my superior—in my dignity as a man.”
Lady Markham made him a little bow; it was her way when she did not know what to say. “One does not need to be told,” she said, “that you are a very superior man, Mr. Spears; quite equal to talk with anybody, were it the greatest philosopher.” Here she stopped short in a little embarrassment. “But we are all very simple, ignorant country people,” she added with a smile, “about here.”
“Ah, you are very clever, my lady. You beg the question.”