on, disturbed the Squire's settled conviction that he was
doing his duty, and given cause for slanderous tongues to hint at
idleness. And though, further, it was true that all this daily labour
was devoted directly or indirectly to interests of his own, what was that
but doing his duty to the country and asserting the prerogative of every
Englishman at all costs to be provincial?

But on this Wednesday the flavour of the dish was gone. To be alone
amongst his acres, quite alone--to have no one to care whether he did
anything at all, no one to whom he might confide that Beldame's hock was
to be fired, that Peacock was asking for more gates, was almost more than
he could bear. He would have wired to the girls to come home, but he
could not bring him self to face their questions. Gerald was at Gib!
George--George was no son of his!--and his pride forbade him to write to
her who had left him thus to solitude and shame. For deep down below his
stubborn anger it was shame that the Squire felt--shame that he should
have to shun his neighbours, lest they should ask him questions which,
for his own good name and his own pride, he must answer with a lie; shame
that he should not be master in his own house--still more, shame that
anyone should see that he was not. To be sure, he did not know that he
felt shame, being unused to introspection, having always kept it at arm's
length. For he always meditated concretely, as, for instance, when he
looked up and did not see his wife at breakfast, but saw Bester making
coffee, he thought, 'That fellow knows all about it, I shouldn't wonder!'
and he felt angry for thinking that. When he saw Mr. Barter coming down
the drive he thought, 'Confound it! I can't meet him,' and slipped out,
and felt angry that he had thus avoided him. When in the Scotch garden
he came on Jackman syringing the rose-trees, he said to him, "Your
mistress has gone to London," and abruptly turned away, angry that he had
been obliged by a mysterious impulse to tell him that:

So it was, all through that long, sad day, and the only thing that gave
him comfort was to score through, in the draft of his will, bequests to
his eldest son, and busy himself over drafting a clause to take their
place:

"Forasmuch as my eldest son, George Hubert, has by conduct unbecoming to
a gentleman and a Pendyce, proved himself unworthy of my confidence, and
forasmuch as to my regret I am unable to cut the entail of my estate, I
he