Richard followed him into another room. Mr Gates set down on a table the brass candle-stick he had brought in; both men remained standing.
'I have come up to ask you to take immediate steps to stop working the mill. I suppose we must give the men some notice?'
'Have you gone mad, boy? What on earth should you close the mill for?'
'It will be closed under the provisions of my father's will, which, I believe, you drew up, Mr Gates.'
Mr Gates sat down heavily on the nearest chair.
'You don't mean to say you've been quarrelling already?'
Richard made an impatient gesture of assent.
'You're both of you too old and too sensible to let a quarrel like this stand between you and your living,' said Gates seriously. 'What's the trouble?'
'I can't tell you what our quarrel is about. My brother can do so if he likes; but it is impossible—please understand me thoroughly, Mr Gates, it is quite impossible that Roland and I can ever work together again.'
His tone was so decided, his face so firm, that Gates saw plainly that what he said he meant, and that this was no quarrel to be got over by 'being slept upon.'