“I had better read the letter. Pray excuse me.” He raised his solid gold letter-knife and slit the envelope open. Charles went to a window and stared out at the trees of Hyde Park. There beyond the chain of carriages in the Bayswater Road, he saw a girl—a shopgirl or maid by the look of her—waiting on a bench before the railings; and even as he watched a red-jacketed soldier came up. He saluted—and she turned. It was too far to see her face, but the eagerness of her turn made it clear that the two were lovers. The soldier took her hand and pressed it momentarily to his heart. Something was said. Then she slipped her hand under his arm and they began to walk slowly towards Oxford Street. Charles became lost in this little scene; and started when Mr. Freeman came beside him, the letter in hand. He was smiling.

“Perhaps I should read what she says in a postscript.” He adjusted his silver-rimmed spectacles. “ ‘If you listen to Charles’s nonsense for one moment, I shall make him elope with me to Paris.’” He looked drily up at Charles. “It seems we are given no alternative.”

Charles smiled faintly. “But if you should wish for further time to reflect…”

Mr. Freeman placed his hand on the scrupulous one’s shoulder. “I shall tell her that I find her intended even more admirable in adversity than in good fortune. And I think the sooner you return to Lyme the better it will be.” “You do me great kindness.”

“In making my daughter so happy, you do me an even greater one. Her letter is not all in such frivolous terms.” He took Charles by the arm and led him back into the room. “And my dear Charles…” this phrase gave Mr. Freeman a certain pleasure, “… I do not think the necessity to regulate one’s expenditure a little when first married is altogether a bad thing. But should circumstances… you know what I mean.”

“Most kind…” “Let us say no more.”

Mr. Freeman took out his keychain and opened a drawer of his desk and placed his daughter’s letter inside, as if it were some precious state document; or perhaps he knew rather more about servants than most Victorian employers. As he relocked the desk he looked up at Charles, who now had the disagreeable impression that he had himself become an employee—a favored one, to be sure, but somehow now in this commercial giant’s disposal. Worse was to follow; perhaps, after all, the gentleman had not alone determined Mr. Freeman’s kindness.

“May I now, since the moment is convenient, open my heart to you on another matter that concerns Ernestina and yourself?”

Charles bowed in polite assent, but Mr. Freeman seemed for a moment at a loss for words. He rather fussily replaced his letter-knife in its appointed place, then went to the window they had so recently left. Then he turned.

“My dear Charles, I count myself a fortunate man in every respect. Except one.” He addressed the carpet. “I have no son.” He stopped again, then gave his son-in-law a probing look. “I understand that commerce must seem abhorrent to you. It is not a gentleman’s occupation.”

“That is mere cant, sir. You are yourself a living proof that it is so.”

“Do you mean that? Or are you perhaps but giving me another form of cant?”

The iron-gray eyes were suddenly very direct. Charles was at a loss for a moment. He opened his hands. “I see what any intelligent man must—the great utility of commerce, its essential place in our nation’s—”

“Ah yes. That is just what every politician says. They have to, because the prosperity of our country depends on it. But would you like it to be said of you that you were… in trade?”

“The possibility has never arisen.”

“But say it should arise?”

“You mean… I…”

At last he realized what his father-in-law was driving at; and seeing his shock, the father-in-law hastily made way for the gentleman.

“Of course I don’t mean that you should bother yourself with the day-to-day affairs of my enterprise. That is the duty of my superintendents, my clerks, and the rest. But my business is prospering, Charles. Next year we shall open emporia in Bristol and Birmingham. They are but the beginning. I cannot offer you a geographical or political empire. But I am convinced that one day an empire of sorts will come to Ernestina and yourself.” Mr. Freeman began to walk up and down. “When it seemed clear that your future duties lay in the administration of your uncle’s estate I said nothing. But you have energy, education, great ability…”

“But my ignorance of what you so kindly suggest is… well, very nearly total.”

Mr. Freeman waved the objection aside. “Matters like probity, the capacity to command respect, to judge men shrewdly—all those are of far greater import. And I do not believe you poor in such qualities.”

“I’m not sure I know fully what you are suggesting.”

“I suggest nothing immediate. In any case for the next year or two you have your marriage to think of. You will not want outside cares and interests at such a time. But should a day come when it would… amuse you to know more of the great commerce you will one day inherit through Ernestina, nothing would bring me… or my wife, may I add… greater pleasure than to further that interest.”

“The last thing I wish is to appear ungrateful, but… that is, it seems so disconsonant with my natural proclivities, what small talents I have…”

“I am suggesting no more than a partnership. In practical terms, nothing more onerous to begin with than an occasional visit to the office of management, a most general supervision of what is going on. I think you would be surprised at the type of man I now employ in the more responsible positions. One need be by no means ashamed to know them.”

“I assure you my hesitation is in no way due to social considerations.”

“Then it can only be caused by your modesty. And there, my dear young man, you misjudge yourself. That day I mentioned must come—I shall be no longer there. To be sure, you may dispose of what I have spent my life building up. You may find good managers to look after it for you. But I know what I am talking about. A successful enterprise needs an active owner just as much as a good army needs a general. Not all the good soldiers in the world will help unless he is there to command the battle.”

Charles felt himself, under the first impact of this attractive comparison, like Jesus of Nazareth tempted by Satan. He too had had his days in the wilderness to make the proposition more tempting. But he was a gentleman; and gentlemen cannot go into trade. He sought for a way of saying so; and failed. In a business discussion indecision is a sign of weakness. Mr. Freeman seized his chance.

“You will never get me to agree that we are all descended from monkeys. I find that notion blasphemous. But I thought much on some of the things you said during our little disagreement. I would have you repeat what you said, what was it, about the purpose of this theory of evolution. A species must change… ?”

“In order to survive. It must adapt itself to changes in the environment.”

“Just so. Now that I can believe. I am twenty years older than you. Moreover, I have spent my life in a situation where if one does not—and very smartly—change oneself to meet the taste of the day, then one does not survive. One goes bankrupt. Times are changing, you know. This is a great age of progress. And progress is like a lively horse. Either one rides it, or it rides one. Heaven forbid I should suggest that being a gentleman is an insufficient pursuit in life. That it can never be. But this is an age of doing, great doing, Charles. You may say these things do not concern you—are beneath you. But ask yourself whether they ought to concern you. That is all I propose. You must reflect on this. There is no need for a decision yet. No need at all.” He paused. “But you will not reject the idea out of hand?”

Charles did indeed by this time feel like a badly stitched sample napkin, in all ways a victim of evolution. Those old doubts about the futility of his existence were only too easily reawakened. He guessed now what Mr. Freeman really thought of him: he was an idler. And what he proposed for him: that he should earn his wife’s dowry. He would have liked to be discreetly cold, but there was a warmth in Mr. Freeman’s voice behind the vehemence, an assumption of relationship. It was to Charles as if he had traveled all his life among pleasant hills; and now came to a vast plain of tedium—and unlike the more famous pilgrim, he saw only Duty and Humiliation down there below—most certainly not Happiness or Progress.