"I swallowed my pride by coming to Great Suffolk Street in search of you—that was my turn. We were to sink the past, and be friends, I thought; we two foolish old septuagenarians, with nothing to quarrel about. You swallowed your pride—a larger pill than mine, Jem, for it nearly choked you in the attempt—by coming here, and now it's your turn—eh?"
He held forth both his hands suddenly towards his brother, who answered the appeal by placing his own within them, and holding them in a nervous trembling grasp.
"Amen!" said the banker; and the younger and weaker man understood what he meant, and felt the tears in his eyes.
"And now, I have heard a great deal of your son—you shall see mine."
He left his brother, touched a hand-bell, and a servant immediately responded.
"Ask Mr. Maurice to step here a moment."
"Yes, sir."
Exit servant; enter very quickly a tall young man of about thirty years of age, fresh-coloured, well formed, with curly brown hair, and a long brown moustache, "making tracks," as the Americans say, for his shoulders.
"Maurice, here's your obstinate uncle come to see us at last."
"I am glad to see you, sir—I think the difference has lasted long enough."