They don't play bridge nor dance, so of course they rarely go out. Their children are away at school somewhere. Now I ask you—with all their money—it's millions, my dear—can you imagine living in a shack like that! And think what they could build on that lovely knoll! Of course they would not exactly be in the desirable neighbourhood. But still—— Let's go in and get her to give us a cup of tea. You'll see what I mean. …
So they would go in and have their cup of tea, and go away disordered in mind. They could recognize reality as opposed to their as yet undeveloped sense of values, but were not yet far enough along in social evolution to analyze it. You cannot very well patronize the possessor of so much wealth: and yet normally any one outside the round of feeds, and cards and dances is a fit subject for patronage. It was very disturbing. The conventional mind resents anything queer that it cannot eject; and unlike the oyster cannot render it valuable.
"Oh, you see we are farmers, like our neighbours," Daphne would explain with a smile. "We might enjoy going out; but you know yourself that if you start, you soon have to go all the time. And we haven't the time."
In spite of a firm refusal to enter wholly into the new social life, the old ranch saw much social activity. The Boyds were not recluse. They attended many of the larger parties where they could refresh acquaintance en bloc, or small dinners where they could meet distinguished visitors. Truth to tell, the latter seemed always to find their way to Corona del Monte. They found this type of modern farming interesting; they discovered in Kenneth a keen intellect with a broad grasp of this especial subject; they confessed in Daphne an individual charm that the fashion of the day had hardened over in most of their hostesses; they were intrigued by the flavour of old days. In addition the spare rooms were often occupied by old friends. Over the mountains the cattle business—modified by barbed wire and barley and alfalfa fields—still flourished; and from over the mountains often whizzed the members of the Sociedad. All but Herbert Corbell. He never whizzed; but continued as of old to drive satiny spirited horses caparisoned in russet
