A conviction that Cyril Boden did his best to sharpen in her. With the
invincible optimism of his kind, he scoffed at the misgivings which she
confided to him, and to him only, on the score of Felicia's lack of
training, her touchy and passionate temper, and the little unscrupulous
ways that offended a fastidious observer.
"What does it matter?" he said to her--"she is in love--head over ears.
You and he can make of her what you like. She will beat him if he looks
at anybody else; but she will have ten children, and never have a thought
or an interest that isn't his. And as to the money--"
"Yes--the money!" said Victoria, dejectedly. "What on earth will they do
with it all? Harry is so rich already."
"Do with it!" Boden turned upon her. "Grow a few ideas in your landlord
garden! Turn the ground of it--enrich it--change it--try experiments!
How long will this England leave the land to you landowners, unless you
bring some mind to it--aye, and the best of your _souls_! you--the
nation's servants! Here is a great tract left desolate by one man's
wickedness. Restore the waste places--build--people--teach! Heavens,
what a chance!" His eyes kindled. "And when Faversham and Lydia come
back--yoke them in too. Curator!--stuff! If he won't own that estate,
make him govern it, and play the man. Disinterested power!--with such a
wife--and such a friend! Could a man ask better of the gods! Now is your
moment. Rural England turns to you, its natural leaders, to shape it
afresh.
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