Now, taking all those things into consideration, and remembering, too, that the squire as a good father (which he was admittedly) wished to make provision for the future of his children, it may perhaps, after all, be questioned whether he really was so mean and little of spirit as appeared.  Under the circumstances, if he wished to save, the only way open to him was to be careful in little things.  Even his hobby—­the pre-Raphaelite pictures—­was not without its advantage in this sense; the collection was certainly worth more than he gave for it, for he got it all by careful bargaining, and it could be sold again at a profit.  The careful superintendence of the Alderney cow, the cucumber frames, and the rabbits, might all be carried out for the very best of objects, the good of his children.

Now, the squire was, of course, very well aware of the troubles of agriculture, the wetness of the seasons—­which played havoc with the game—­the low prices, and the loud talk that was going on around him.  But he made no sign.  He might have been deaf, dumb, and blind.  He walked by the wheat, but did not see the deficiency of the crop, nor the extraordinary growth of weeds.  There were voices in the air like the mutterings of a coming storm, but he did not hear them.  There were paragraphs in the papers—­how So-and-So had liberally reduced the rents or returned a percentage; but he did not read them, or did not understand.  Rent days came and went, and no sign was made.  His solicitor received the rents, but nothing could be got out of him by the farmers.  The little farmers hardly liked to take the lead:  some of them did not dare.  The three largest farmers looked at each other and wondered which would speak first.  They were awkwardly situated.  The squire’s wife acknowledged their wives and daughters, and once now and then deigned to invite them to the mansion.  The squire himself presented them with specimens of a valuable breed of poultry he was bringing up at the Home Farm.  It was difficult to begin unpleasant business.

Meantime the solicitor gathered up the cheques, wished them good afternoon and departed.  Another rent day came round, and still no sign.  The squire’s policy was, in fact, to ignore.  He ignored the depression altogether—­could not see that it existed in that county at all.  Recollect, it was the only policy open to him.  Whether the rents paid to him were large or small, his expenses would be the same.  There were the members of the other branch of the family to be paid in full.  There were the carriages, the servants, the gamekeepers, and so on.  He could reduce nothing; no wonder that he was slow to acknowledge that he must be himself reduced.  The fatal day—­so long dreaded—­came at last.