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"Of course it would matter! A bad farmer's a danger not only to himself but to his neighbors, as I'm always telling Lesley. Vine's the best farmer on the estate, and we must keep him here. He managed to make that place pay its way even when times were bad before the war—the only one of the lot that really did. He deserves to have it. He wants it for his son."

Iris leaned back in a cloud of scarfs that seemed the color of starlight.

"That's it," she said with a faint smile. "I'm by no means sure that I want the son to have it."

"Why the—why on earth! What's the matter with young Vine?"

"By all accounts, he's already suffering sufficiently from swelled head. I haven't seen him since he came back from Germany, but I gather from what Mrs. Gailey says that he's giving himself all sorts of ludicrous airs. He brought her here from the station; and she was tremendously impressed by him, without the slightest idea of what he really was. Of course, I don't suppose he would have deceived anyone who really knew, but with her he seems to have passed himself off as a sort of local squire. Goodness knows what he'd do if he actually owned the place."