Grace laughed, a rather strained laugh, as Osborn's angry voice rose from
behind a shrubbery.

"He isn't patient now, and I'm afraid Jackson is paying for my fault.
However, I really think I was patient, too. To talk about people keeping
their places is ridiculous; in fact, it's piffle! Father's notions are
horribly out of date. One wonders he doesn't know."

"Things change. Perhaps we don't quite realize this when we are getting
old. But you mustn't argue with your father. He doesn't like it, and when
he's annoyed everybody suffers."

"It's true; but how illogical!" Grace remarked, and mused while she
looked dreamily across the grass.

She was romantic and generous, and had learned something about social
economy at the famous school; in fact, Osborn would have been startled
had he suspected how much she knew. Nevertheless, she was young; her
studies were half digested, and her theories crude. She had come home
with a vague notion of playing the part of Lady Bountiful and putting
things right, but had got a jar soon after she began. Her father's idea
of justice was elementary: he resented her meddling, and was sometimes
tyrannical. When it was obvious that he had taken an improper line he
blamed his agent; but perhaps the worst was he seldom knew when he was
wrong. Then the agent's main object was to extort as much money from the
tenants as possible.

Grace did not see what she could do, although she felt that something
ought to be done. She had a raw, undisciplined enthusiasm, and imagined
that she was somehow responsible. Yet when she tried to use some