him to stay with her. Then Harding would write to the nearest
neighbour, saying, "I am staying with So-and-so for a week and shall
be going on to the north the week after next--now would it be
putting you to too much trouble if I were to spend the interval with
you?" News of these visits would soon get about, and would suggest
to another neighbour that she might ask him for a week. Harding
would perhaps answer her that he could not come for a week, but if
she would allow him to come for a fortnight he would be very glad
because then he would be able to get on to Mrs.----. In a very short
time January, February, March, and April would be allotted; and Owen
imagined Harding walking under immemorial elms gladdened by great
expanses of park and pleased in the contemplation of swards which
had been rolled for at least a thousand years. "A castellated wall,
a rampart, the remains of a moat, a turreted chamber must stir him
as the heart of the war horse is said to be stirred by a trumpet. He
demands a spire at least of his hostess; and names with a Saxon ring
in them, names recalling deeds of Norman chivalry awaken remote
sympathies, inherited perhaps; sonorous titles, though they be new
ones, are better than plain Mr. and Mrs.; 'ladyship' and 'lordship'
are always pleasing in his ears, and an elaborate escutcheon more
beautiful than a rose. After all, why not admire the things of a
thousand years ago as well as those of yesterday?" Owen continued to
think of Harding's admiration of the past. "It has nothing in common
with the vulgar tuft-hunter, deeply interested in the peerage,
anxious to get on. Harding's admiration of the aristocracy is part
of himself; it proceeds from hierarchical instinct and love of
order. He sees life flowing down the ages, each class separate, each
class dependent upon the other, a homogeneous whole, beautiful on
account of the harmony of the different parts, each melody going
different ways but contributing to the general harmony. He sees life
as classes; tradition is the breath of his nostrils, symbol the
delight of his eyes." Owen's thoughts divagated suddenly, and he
thought of the pain Harding would experience were he suddenly flung
into Bohemian society. He might find great talents there--but even
genius would not compensate him for disorder and licence. The dinner
might be excellent, but he would find no pleasure in it if the host
wore a painting jacket; a spot of ink on the shirt cuff would
e