The neighborhood of Temple Barholm was not, upon the whole, a brilliant one.Indeed, it had been frankly designated by the casual guest as dull.The country was beautiful enough, and several rather large estates lay within reach of one another, but their owners were neither very rich nor especially notable personages.They were of extremely good old blood, and were of established respectability.None of them, however, was given to entertaining house parties made up of the smart and dazzlingly sinful world of fashion said by moralists to be composed entirely of young and mature beauties, male and female, capable of supplying at any moment enlivening detail for the divorce court--glittering beings whose wardrobes were astonishing and whose conversations were composed wholly of brilliant paradox and sparkling repartee.
Most of the residents took their sober season in London, the men of the family returning gladly to their pheasants, the women not regretfully to their gardens and tennis, because their successes in town had not been particularly delirious.The guests who came to them were generally as respectable and law-abiding as themselves, and introduced no iconoclastic diversions.For the greater portion of the year, in fact, diners out were of the neighborhood and met the neighborhood, and were reduced to discussing neighborhood topics, which was not, on the whole, a fevered joy.The Duke of Stone was, perhaps, the one man who might have furnished topics.Privately it was believed, and in part known, that he at least had had a brilliant, if not wholly unreprehensible, past.He might have introduced enlivening elements from London, even from Paris, Vienna, Berlin, and Rome; but the sobering influence of years of rheumatic gout and a not entirely sufficing income prevented activities, and his opinions of his social surroundings were vaguely guessed to be those of a not too lenient critic.
"I do not know anything technical or scientific about ditch- water,"he had expressed himself in the bosom of his family."I never analyzed it, but analyzers, I gather, consider it dull.If anything could be duller than ditch-water, I should say it was Stone Hover and its surrounding neighborhood." He had also remarked at another time: "If our society could be enriched by some of the characters who form the house parties and seem, in fact, integral parts of all country society in modern problem or even unproblem novels, how happy one might be, how edified and amused! A wicked lady or so of high, or extremely low, rank, of immense beauty and corruscating brilliancy; a lovely creature, male or female, whom she is bent upon undoing--""Dear papa!" protested Lady Celia.
"Reproach me, dearest.Reproach me as severely as you please.It inspires me.It makes me feel like a wicked, dangerous man, and I have not felt like one for many years.Such persons as I describe form the charm of existence, I assure you.A ruthless adventuress with any kind of good looks would be the making of us.Several of them, of different types, a handsome villain, and a few victims unknowing of their fate, would cause life to flow by like a peaceful stream."Lady Edith laughed an unseemly little laugh--unseemly, since filial regret at paternal obliquity should have restrained it.
"Papa, you are quite horrible," she said."You ought not to make your few daughters laugh at improper things.""I would make my daughters laugh at anything so long as I must doom them to Stone Hover--and Lady Pevensy and Mrs.Stoughton and the rector, if one may mention names," he answered."To see you laugh revives me by reminding me that once I was considered a witty person--quite so.Some centuries ago, however; about the time when things were being rebuilt after the flood."In such circumstances it cannot be found amazing that a situation such as Temple Barholm presented should provide rich food for conversation, supposition, argument, and humorous comment.
