“But what’s to become of us? Gervase, you can’t be Squire and not live here.”
“Let me explain myself. I’m not thinking of being Squire. I forfeit all my rights absolutely, except the title, which I’m told I can’t get rid of. But I shall sell the estate.”
The silence that fell was almost terrifying. Doris sank back in her chair as if fainting, Lady Alard covered her face, Rose sat with her mouth open, Jenny and Godfrey stared at each other.
Lady Alard was the first to speak.
“You mean that you’re going to turn us out—your mother and sisters—not even leave us a roof over our heads? And what becomes of the furniture?”
“I shall of course consult your wishes about the house. If you want to go on living here, the house and grounds are yours.”
“But Gervase,” cried Doris hoarsely—“what good will the house be to us without the land? Do you think we’re going to live on here and see all the estate pieced out and flung to small-holders and contractors?—I’d rather go and live in a slum.”
“If Gervase doesn’t mean to live here, I’m by no means sure that I care to stay on,” said Lady Alard. “The morning-room chimney smokes abominably, and the bedrooms are extremely inconvenient—also, with my illness, I really think I ought to live in a town. We might move into Hastings.”
“But Gervase doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” cried Doris—“he can’t desert us and fling away his responsibilities like this. Sell the estate! Oh, God—poor Father!” and she burst into tears.
Rose sprang to her feet with an indignant look at Gervase, and put her arm round Doris’s heaving shoulders, but her sister-in-law ungratefully pushed her away.