Under the influence of my uncle's cigar, the vicar's mind had soared
beyond the limits of the district. "This Socialism," he said, "seems
making great headway."
My uncle shook his head. "We're too individualistic in this country
for that sort of nonsense," he said "Everybody's business is nobody's
business. That's where they go wrong."
"They have some intelligent people in their ranks, I am told," said
the vicar, "writers and so forth. Quite a distinguished playwright, my
eldest daughter was telling me--I forget his name.
"Milly, dear! Oh! she's not here. Painters, too, they have. This
Socialist, it seems to me, is part of the Unrest of the Age.... But, as
you say, the spirit of the people is against it. In the country, at any
rate. The people down here are too sturdily independent in their small
way--and too sensible altogether."...
"It's a great thing for Duffield to have Lady Grove occupied again," he
was saying when my wandering attention came back from some attractive
casualty in his wife's discourse. "People have always looked up to
the house and considering all things, old Mr.
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