“Bill, he began upon me in a moment,” said George, looking appealingly into his brother's face; “he sees we are going down hill, and he as good as bade me think no more of Susan.”
“Well,” said the other, harshly, “it was your business to own the truth and ask him help us over the stile—he's our own blood.”
“You want to let me down lower than I would let that Carlo dog of yours. You're no brother of mine,” retorted George fiercely and bitterly.
“A bargain is a bargain,” replied the other sullenly: “I asked Meadows, and he said No. You fell talking with uncle about Susan, and never put the question to him at all. Who is the false one, eh?”
“If you call me false, I'll knock your ugly head off, sulky Bill.”
“You're false, and a fool into the bargain, bragging George!”
“What, you will have it, then?”
“If you can give it me.”
“Well, if it is to be,” said George, “I'll give you something to put you on your mettle. The best man shall farm 'The Grove,' and the other shall be a servant on it, or go elsewhere, for I am sick of this.”
“And so am I!” cried William, hastily; “and have been any time this two years.”