Caldigate pursued his walk, and in the course of it bade farewell to more than one old friend.  None of them were so expressive as Holt, but he could perceive that he was regarded by all of them as a person who, by his conduct, was bringing misfortune, not only on himself, but on the whole parishes of Utterden and Netherden.

At dinner the Squire conversed upon various subjects if not easily to himself, at least with affected ease.  Had he applied himself to subjects altogether indifferent,—­to the state of politics, or the Game Laws, or the absurdities of a State Church, the unfitness of such matters for the occasion would have been too apparent.  Both he and his son would have broken down in the attempt.  But he could talk about Babington,—­abusing the old family,—­and even about himself, and about New South Wales, and gold, and the coming voyage, without touching points which had been, and would be, specially painful.  Not a word had ever been spoken between them as to Davis.  There had, of course, been letters, very angry letters; but the usurer’s name had never been mentioned.  Nor was there any need that it should be mentioned now.  It was John’s affair,—­not in any way his.  So he asked and listened to much about Richard Shand, and the mode of gold-finding practised among the diggings in New South Wales.

When the old butler had gone he was even more free, speaking of things that were past, not only without anger, but, as far as possible, without chagrin,—­treating his son as a person altogether free from any control of his.  ‘I dare say it is all for the best,’ he said.

‘It is well at any rate to try to think so, sir,’ replied John, conscience-stricken as to his own faults.

’I doubt whether there would have been anything for you to do here,—­or at least anything that you would have done.  You would have had too much ambition to manage this little estate under me, and not enough of industry, I fear, to carry you to the front in any of the professions.  I used to think of the bar.’

‘And so did I.’

’But when I found that the Babingtons had got hold of you, and that you liked horses and guns, better than words and arguments——­’

‘I never did, sir.’

‘It seemed so.’

‘Of course I have been weak.’

’Do not suppose for a moment that I am finding fault.  It would be of no avail, and I would not thus embitter our last hours together.  But when I saw how your tastes seemed to lead you, I began to fear that there could be no career for you here.  On such a property as Babington an eldest son may vegetate like his father before him, and may succeed to it in due time, before he has wasted everything, and may die as he had lived, useless, but having to the end all the enjoyments of a swine.’

‘You are severe upon my cousins, sir.’

’I say what I think.  But you would not have done that.  And though you are not industrious, you are far too active and too clever for such a life.  Now you are probably in earnest as to the future.’