"But he does not ask you to pay it him back again?"
"If he asks you;—is not that the same thing? But you hardly understand me, or him either."
"I think I understand him, George. I wonder whether they could give us a cup of coffee here?"
"Of course they can:" and George rang the bell.
"Perhaps so; but as far as my experience goes, wherever Englishmen frequent, there the coffee is spoilt. Englishmen, as far as I can see, have a partiality for chicory, but none at all for coffee."
"What I mean, sir, is this. Connected as I and my uncle are together, seeing that he has all my life—" Here George paused a moment, for what he was about to say might have seemed to imply a censure on his father.
"Paid your school-bills, and all that sort of thing," filled in Sir Lionel.
"Yes; as he has always done that, it seemed so natural that I should take what he gave me."
"Quite natural. You could have done nothing else."
"And now he speaks of it as though—as though;—of course I am under an obligation to him—a very deep obligation. I understand that, and should not fret at it. But he thinks of it as though I had been to blame in spending his money. When I see him next, he'll say something of the same sort about that three hundred pounds. All I can do is to remind him that I did not ask for it, and tell him that he may have it back again."