“We’ll do nothing of the kind.  I have no time for visiting; I must get on with my book.  I hope to finish my study of St Augustine before I leave here.  I have my books to unpack, and a great deal of reading to get through.  I have done no more than glance at the Anglo-Latin.  Literature died in France with Gregory of Tours at the end of the sixth century; with St Gregory the Great, in Italy, at the commencement of the seventh century; in Spain about the same time.  And then the Anglo-Saxons became the representatives of the universal literature.  All this is most important.  I must re-read St Aldhelm and the Venerable Bede....  Now, I ask, do you expect me—­me, with my head full of Aldhelm’s alliterative verses—­

“’Turbo terram teretibus Quae catervatim coelitus Neque coelorum culmina ...... ......  Grassabatur turbinibus Crebrantur nigris nubibus Carent nocturna nebula—­’

“a letter descriptive of a great storm which he was caught in as he was returning home one night....”

“Now, sir, we have had quite enough of that, and I would advise you not to go on with any of that nonsense here; you will be turned into dreadful ridicule.”

“That’s just why I wish to avoid them ... but you have no pity for me.  Just fancy my having to listen to them!  How I have suffered....  What is the use of growing wheat when we are only getting eight pounds ten a load?...  But we must grow something, and there is nothing else but wheat.  We must procure a certain amount of straw, or we’d have no manure, and you can’t work a farm without manure.  I don’t believe in the fish manure.  But there is market gardening, and if we kept shops in Brighton, we could grow our own stuff and sell it at retail price....  And then there is a great deal to be done with flowers.”

“Now, sir, that will do, that will do....  How dare you speak to me so!  I will not allow it.”  And then relapsing into an angry silence, Mrs Norton drew her shawl about her shoulders.

One of a thousand quarrels.  The basis of each nature was common sense—­shrewd common sense—­but such similarity of structure is in itself apt to lead to much violent shocking of opinion; and to this end an adjuvant was found in the dose of fantasy, mysticism, idealism which was inherent in John’s character.  “Why is he not like other people?  Why will he waste his time with a lot of rubbishy Latin authors?  Why will he not take up his position in the county?” Mrs Norton asked herself these questions as she fumed on the sofa.

“I wonder why she will continue to try to impose her will upon mine.  I wonder why she has not found out by this time the uselessness of her effort.  But no; she still keeps on hoping at last to wear me down.  She wants me to live the life she has marked out for me to live—­to take up my position in the county, and, above all, to marry and give an heir to the property.  I see it all; that is why she wanted me to spend Christmas with her; that is why she has Kitty Hare here to meet me.  How cunning, how mean women are:  a man would not do that.  Had I known it....  I have a mind to leave to-morrow.  I wonder if the girl is in the little conspiracy.”  And turning his head he looked at her.