"He is still in middle life, and he can marry. That is what he intended to do, so much is he disgusted with his nephew. He has already stopped the young man's allowance, and swears that he shall not have a shilling of his money if he can help it. The police for some time were in great doubt whether they would not arrest him. I think I am justified in saying that he is a thorough reprobate."
"You are not at all justified," said the father.
"I can only express my opinion, and am glad to say that the world agrees with me."
"It is sickening, absolutely sickening," said the squire, turning to the attorney. "You would not believe, now—"
But he stopped himself. "What would not Mr. Grey believe?" asked the son.
"There is no one one knows better than you that after the row in the street,—when Mountjoy was, I believe, the aggressor,—he was again seen by another person. I hate such deceit and scheming." Here Augustus smiled. "What are you sniggering there at, you blockhead?"
"Your hatred, sir, at deceit and scheming. The truth is that when a man plays a game well, he does not like to find that he has any equal. Heaven forbid that I should say that there is rivalry here. You, sir, are so pre-eminently the first that no one can touch you." Then he laughed long,—a low, bitter, inaudible laugh,—during which Mr. Grey sat silent.
"This comes well from you!" said the father.
"Well, sir, you would try your hand upon me. I have passed over all that you have done on my behalf. But when you come to abuse me I cannot quite take your words as calmly as though there had been—no, shall I say, antecedents? Now about this money. Are we to pay it?"
"I don't care one straw about the money. What is it to me? I don't owe these creditors anything."