“And what was my father’s name?”
“Arthur Gordon—he is an American.”
“Then my name is Wilkie Gordon?”
“Yes.”
“And—-is my father rich?” he inquired.
“No.”
“What does he do?”
“Everything that a man can do when he has a taste for luxury and a horror for work.”
This reply was so explicit in its brevity, and implied so many terrible accusations, that Wilkie was dismayed. “The devil!” he exclaimed, “and where does he live!”
“He lives at Baden or Homburg in the summer; in Paris or at Monaco in the winter.”