The two lords were seated in the large, sumptuous drawing-room, furnished with expensive English-style furniture, drinking brandy and discussing yesterday's trip to Walsingham.

– How could such squalid places exist in the early nineteenth century? I thought they had all disappeared a couple of centuries ago! – Lord Draymore said in surprise and grinned sarcastically. – Oh, Uncle Buck, what a burden you've put on my neck in exchange for this estate!

– But why didn't your uncle mention the village when he gave you his will? – Viscount Wilworth asked him.

– I have no idea. Perhaps he didn't even realise there was a village on his land. I myself learnt of it from my secretary.

– But, my friend, with your wealth, you can do these peasants a great deal of good. You have seen how poor they are, how crooked their houses are, how poorly they are dressed… Poor, wretched people.

– Yes, Dominic, I have. But in this dirt my eyes saw not only poverty, but also a beautiful flower, – said Colin Draymore, remembering the beautiful modest daughter of the pastor, Christine.

– Be serious. You should not think of that girl,' frowned the viscount. – Let this flower remain undefiled.

– Why this moralising? I have no wish to deal with that pretty girl. She is a peasant! I'm just paying honour to her beauty," the Count said with a mocking sneer.

– Then it must be said that the youngest Glowford is much lovelier than your beauty," said Dominic Wilworth, and his heart ached with pity for Cassie.

– Yes, indeed, but she is ill, and that spoils her.

– But it's only a question of looks.

– Yes, that little girl with the marvellous curls is a wonder. I feel sorry for her," Colin muttered, not wanting to spread his negative opinion of her.

The moment he'd seen Cassie, the same dark thoughts had flashed through his mind as when he'd seen her sister Christine. But Cassie's dementia repelled him. Viscount Wilworth, on the contrary, became imbued with genuine sympathy and pity for Cassie. He was very surprised that the parson had not treated her as a child and how calmly he treated his daughter's illness as a must.

– I will help these peasants. It's time to show them the benefits of civilisation and the Enlightenment. I will rebuild their houses, the church, the mill, other buildings, roads, fences… Not immediately, of course: first I have to sort out all the documents left behind by my uncle. I have to look round the garden and get rid of the ugly sculptures. Where did my uncle get his love of antiquity? Renovate the park, the garden, the stables. One stable isn't enough, I must build another," Lord Draymore said thoughtfully, imagining how it would change the appearance of Rivershold.

– Better take care of the peasants," his friend urged him. – Your plans won't go anywhere, but fifty peasants will die before you realise them.

– Oh, come on. They've been living all these years.

– Yes, they have, and that's why their village has become a "rotten place" and will eventually disappear from the face of the earth. How many peasants live there?

– One hundred and fifty-one. Half of them are children.

– You see, if you don't want a bunch of hungry children when their parents die, you should build the village first, then your estate.

Count Draymore smiled thoughtfully, finished his brandy, put the glass on the table, then stood up and walked to the window. The image of Christine, dressed in a modest white dress and bonnet, did not leave his mind.

"Sometimes wildflowers are more beautiful than capricious society roses," thought the count. – "But she is a peasant, and such an affair would disgrace me."