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"Saved any money," the man blustered, "with shepherd's wages alone at two pounds a week, and a week's rain starting in the day I began hay-making. Why, my barley " "You started your hay-making ten days too late," Segerson interrupted sternly. "You had plenty of warning.
It was untidy, dirty and close, smelling strongly of tobacco and beer. On the table was a bottle of whisky, half empty, and two glasses. "There is really no reason why I should disturb you," Jane said, turning back upon the threshold. "A letter from Mr. Segerson will do." Crockford, however, had pulled himself together. A premonition of his impending fate had already produced a certain sullenness.
Tallente sat in the morning train, on his way to town, and on the other side of the bare ridge at which he gazed so earnestly Lady Jane and Segerson had brought their horses to a standstill half way along a rude cart track which led up to a farmhouse tucked away in the valley. "This is where James Crockford's land commences," Segerson remarked, riding up to his companion's side. "Look around you.
I want to prowl about London and do ordinary things. One or two theatres, perhaps, but no dinner parties. I shan't stay long, I don't suppose. As soon as I hear from Mr. Segerson that the snow has gone and that terrible north wind has died away, I know I shall be wanting to get back." "You are very conscientious about your work there," he complained.
"Then I am afraid he must go down," she said. "He simply stands in the way of better men." "One reads a good deal of Mr. Tallente, nowadays," Segerson remarked, changing the conversation a little abruptly. Jane leaned over and stroked the head of a dog which had come to lie at her feet. "He seems to be making a good deal of stir," she observed. The young man frowned.
I have discovered very late in life, too late, many would say, that I cannot build the temples of life with hands and brain alone. Even though the time be short and I have so little to offer, I am your greedy suitor. I want help, I want sympathy, I want love." There was nothing whatever left now of Lady Jane of Woolhanger. Segerson would probably not have recognised his autocratic mistress.
You've had the same opportunity. You have preferred to waste your time and waste your money. You've had more than one warning you know, Crockford." "Aye, more than a dozen," Segerson muttered. The man looked at them both and there was a dull hate gathering in his eyes.
"I suppose," she reflected, "that man Crockford thought I was very cruel to-day." "I will tell you Crockford's point of view," Segerson replied. "He doesn't exactly understand what your aims are, and wherever he goes he hears nothing but praise of the way you have treated your tenants and the way you have tried to turn them into small landowners.
Tell him that he can have the farm for two thousand pounds, but he must bring me eight hundred in cash and it must not be borrowed money. That ought to satisfy him. He must know quite well that I could get three thousand pounds for it in the open market." "These fellows never take any notice of that," Segerson remarked. "Ungrateful beggars, all of them. I'll tell him what you say, Lady Jane."
"He is a people's man, of course, and his proposals will sound pretty terrible to a good many of the old school. Still, something of the sort has to come." The butler brought in the postbag while they talked. Segerson, as he rose to depart, glanced with curiosity at half a dozen orange-coloured wrappers which were among the rest of the letters.
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