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During the six weeks which had elapsed between his return home from Joyfields and the assizes, Felix had much leisure to reflect that if Lady Malloring had not caused Tryst to be warned that he could not marry his deceased wife's sister and continue to stay on the estate the lives of Felix himself, his daughter, mother, brother, brother's wife, their son and daughter, and in less degree of his other brothers, would have been free of a preoccupation little short of ludicrous in proportion to the face value of the cause.
"They've been talking about 'the Land'" he raised his hands and ran them through his palish hair "'the Land! Heavenly Father! 'The Land! Why! Look at that fellow!" Nedda looked and saw a man, like Richard Coeur de Lion in the history books, with a straw-colored moustache just going gray. "Sir Gerald Malloring hope he's not a friend of yours!
'Yes, thought Felix, 'he's just about the very best we can do among those who sit upon 'the Land. I would wager there's not a better landlord nor a better fellow in all his class, than this one. He's chalks away superior to Malloring, if I know anything of faces would never have turned poor Tryst out. If this exception were the rule!
His imagination would then sometimes take fire, and he would say that such and such, or so and so, was dangerous. "I'd rather go and have a talk with Freeland," he said. "He's queer, but he's not at all a bad chap." Lady Malloring rose, and took one of his real-leather buttons in her hand. "My dear Gerald, Mr. Freeland doesn't exist."
"Those two young people," she murmured, "said some very unpleasant things to me. The boy, I believe, might have some good in him, but the girl is simply terrible." "H'm! I think just the reverse, you know." "They'll come to awful grief if they're not brought up sharp. They ought to be sent to the colonies to learn reality." Malloring nodded.
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