The letter was a piece of that easy diplomacy which comes from habit.  The “of those, two are ducal,” was masterly.  It affected the imagination of Brookfield.  “Which two?” And could Besworth be brought to rival them?  Ultimately, it might be!  The neighbourhood to London, too, gave it noble advantages.  Rapid relays of guests, and a metropolitan reputation for country attractions, would distinguish Besworth above most English houses.  A house where all the chief celebrities might be encountered:  a house under suave feminine rule; a house, a home, to a chosen set, and a refreshing fountain to a widening circle!

“We have a dispute,” they wrote playfully to Wilfrid “a dispute we wish you or Lady Charlotte to settle.  I, Arabella, know nothing of trout.  I, Cornelia, know nothing of river-beds.  I, Adela, know nothing of engineering.  But, we are persuaded, the latter, that the river running for a mile through Besworth grounds may be deepened:  we are persuaded, the intermediate, that the attempt will damage the channel:  we are persuaded, the first, that all the fish will go.”

In reply, Wilfrid appeared to have taken them in earnest.  “I rode over yesterday with Lady Charlotte,” he said.  “We think something might be done, without at all endangering the fish or spoiling the channel.  At all events, the idea of making the mile of broad water serviceable for boats is too good to give up in a hurry.  How about the dining-hall?  I told Lady Charlotte you were sure to insist upon a balcony for musicians.  She laughed.  You will like her when you know her.”

Thus the ladies of Brookfield were led on to be more serious concerning Besworth than they had thought of being, and began to feel that their honour was pledged to purchase this surpassing family seat.  In a household where every want is supplied, and money as a topic utterly banished, it is not surprising that they should have had imperial views.

Adela was Wilfrid’s favoured correspondent.  She described to him gaily the struggle with their papa.  “But, if you care for Besworth, you may calculate on it.—­Or is it only for our sakes, as I sometimes think?—­Besworth is won.  Nothing but the cost of the place (to be considered you know!) could withhold it from us; and of that papa has not uttered a syllable, though he conjures up every possible objection to a change of abode, and will not (perhaps, poor dear, cannot) see what we intend doing in the world.  Now, you know that rich men invariably make the question of the cost their first and loudest outcry.  I know that to be the case.  They call it their blood.  Papa seems indifferent to this part of the affair.  He does not even allude to it.  Still, we do not progress.  It is just possible that the Tinleys have an eye on beautiful Besworth.  Their own place is bad enough, but good enough for them.  Give them Besworth, and they will sit upon the neighbourhood.  We shall be invaded by everything that is mean and low, and a great chance will be gone for us.  I think I may say, for the county.  The country?  Our advice is, that you write to papa one of your cleverest letters.  We know, darling, what you can do with the pen as well as the sword.  Write word that you have written.”