n and merge till he was just unseen leaven of
good-fellowship and good-will, working in the common bread?' And
squinting at that sincere, clean, charming, almost fine face, he
answered himself unwillingly: 'He could not!' And suddenly he knew that
he was face to face with the tremendous question which soon or late
confronts all thinkers. Sitting beside him--was the highest product of
the present system! With its charm, humanity, courage, chivalry up to a
point, its culture, and its cleanliness, this decidedly rare flower at
the end of a tall stalk, with dark and tortuous roots and rank foliage,
was in a sense the sole justification of power wielded from above.
And was it good enough? Was it quite good enough? Like so many other
thinkers, Felix hesitated to reply. If only merit and the goods of this
world could be finally divorced! If the reward of virtue were just men's
love and an unconscious self-respect! If only 'to have nothing' were the
highest honour! And yet, to do away with this beside him and put in its
place--What? No kiss-me-quick change had a chance of producing anything
better. To scrap the long growth of man and start afresh was but to say:
'Since in the past the best that man has done has not been good enough,
I have a perfect faith in him for the future!' No! That was a creed for
archangels and other extremists. Safer to work on what we had! And he
began:

"Next door to this estate I'm told there's ten thousand acres almost
entirely grass and covert, owned by Lord Baltimore, who lives in
Norfolk, London, Cannes, and anywhere else that the whim takes him. He
comes down here twice a year to shoot. The case is extremely common.
Surely it spells paralysis. If land is to be owned at all in such great
lumps, owners ought at least to live on the lumps, and to pass very high
examinations as practical farmers. They ought to be the life and soul,
the radiating sun, of their little universes; or else they ought to be
cleared out. How expect keen farming to start from such an example?
It really looks to me as if the game laws would have to go." And he
redoubled his scrutiny of the Bigwig's face. A little furrow in its brow
had deepened visibly, but nodding, he said:

"The absentee landlord is a curse, of course. I'm afraid I'm a bit of
a one myself. And I'm bound to say--though I'm keen on shooting--if the
game laws were abolished, it might do a lot."

"YOU wouldn't move in that direction, I suppose?"

The Bigwi