"It's his own fault," replied Patience in a stony manner, "he ought to stop when he finds it does him harm."
"No doubt," returned the old man acidly, "but did you ever know a man deny himself anything if it did him harm?"
"You did."
"Yes, because I had an object to gain. The life I led in Town was very pleasant, but it would have left me a pauper for my next incarnation."
It was no use trying to argue the old man out of his delusion, so Patience said nothing, but stood beside him in grim silence with folded arms.
"I'll enjoy myself when I'm born again," pursued Garsworth exultingly. "I will have plenty of money and a new body. I will have youth once again. Oh, youth! youth! how short are your golden hours. Young men never know the treasure they possess in youth, and waste it in idleness and folly; there's that child you brought up, Reginald Blake----"
"I did not bring him up."
"Well, well," rejoined Garsworth testily. "You know what I mean, you were his nurse--but he has youth, good looks, health and talents--why doesn't he go to London with such advantages, instead of wasting his life in a dull village?"
"He's got no money," retorted Patience icily; "all you mention go for nothing without money."
"No doubt, no doubt," muttered Garsworth, his eyes gleaming; "money is a necessity--still he has talents, I hear."