To her surprise, the usually tolerant Susan did not wholly approve of Mr. Spence.
“He is a guest, and I ought not to criticise him,” she answered. “But since you ask me, Honora, I have to be honest. It seems to me that his ambitions are a little sordid—that he is too intent upon growing rich.”
“But I thought all New Yorkers were that way,” exclaimed Honora, and added hastily, “except a few, like your family, Susan.”
Susan laughed.
“You should marry a diplomat, my dear,” she said. “After all, perhaps I am a little harsh. But there is a spirit of selfishness and—and of vulgarity in modern, fashionable New York which appears to be catching, like a disease. The worship of financial success seems to be in every one's blood.”
“It is power,” said Honora.
Susan glanced at her, but Honora did not remark the expression on her friend's face, so intent was she on the reflections which Susan's words had aroused. They had reached the far end of the Silverdale domain, and were driving along the shore of the lake that lay like a sapphire set amongst the green hills. It was here that the new house of the Robert Holts was building. Presently they came to Joshua's dairy farm, and Joshua himself was standing in the doorway of one of his immaculate barn Honora put her hand on Susan's arm.
“Can't we see the cows?” she asked.
Susan looked surprised.
“I didn't know you were interested in cows, Honora.”