"You're too well-off for me—I can't be your companion, and I'll not be patronized and play the toady. It looks bad in business here, and it will look worse apart from it."
"You're a regular stoic!"
After awhile Mr. Geoffry Hinchford again asked his nephew what he thought of Maurice.
"A warm-hearted and a generous man, whom I am proud to think is a cousin of mine."
"Yes—just as you say. And very proud I am, too, to think that this dashing handsome young fellow is a son of mine. He has all the virtues except one, under heaven, Sidney."
"We're not all perfect, sir," said Sidney, laughing.
"Oh! but you are, according to my brother James—he won't see even a flaw in your armour," said the old banker, acrimoniously; "but then he always was aggravating me with something or other—and now it's you."
"I hope not, sir."
"Well, well, only in one sense of the word. And Maurice has, after all, but a little foible, which the world—the real, material world—always makes allowance for. He will grow out of it. Good evening."
Sidney did not inquire concerning Maurice Hinchford's foibles, little or otherwise—he knew that foibles were common to humanity, and that humanity is lenient respecting them. He did not believe that there was any great wrong likely to affect the brilliancy of Maurice Hinchford's character—he would be content to resemble his cousin, he thought, if he were ever a rich man like unto him, an honest, amiable English gentleman.