"Fair sailing, so far," said Francis, doggedly. "Go on. What will you give?"
"Nothing just now. The sum you named on the day when I marry Ethel Kenyon, on condition that you give me back that confession you talk about, swear not to mention your wife's sister, and take yourself off to Australia."
"Hm!" said Francis considering. "So I have brought you to terms, have
I? So much the better for you—and perhaps for me. Are you engaged to Miss Kenyon?"
"I asked her to-night to marry me, and she consented."
"You always were a lucky dog, Oliver," said Francis, with almost a wistful expression on his crafty face. "I never could see how you managed it, for my part. If that pretty girl"—with a laugh—"knew all that I knew——"
"Exactly. I don't want her to know all you do. Are you going to agree to my terms or not?"
"I should have said they were my terms," said the elder brother, "but we won't haggle about names. Say two thousand five hundred pounds down?"
"No, two thousand," said Oliver, boldly. "That will suit me better than two hundred a year."
"Ah, you want to get rid of me, don't you? How soon is it likely to be?"