"Quite so," said Durham, smoothly. "Then why—"
"Drop the subject, Mark."
"Sit down and be quiet, Bernard," said Conniston, pulling him back into his seat, for he had again risen. "Mark has something to say."
"If you will let me say it," said Durham, with the air of a man severely tried by a recalcitrant witness.
"Go on, then," said Bernard, and flung himself into his chair in a rather sullen manner. His troubles had worn his nerves thin, and even from his old schoolfellow he was not prepared to take any scolding. All the same, he secretly saw that he was accusing Durham of taking a liberty where none was meant.
"It's this way," said the lawyer, when Gore was smoothed down for the time being. "We know that Beryl hates you."
"He wants the money."
"I know that." Durham smiled when he thought of the destroyed will; but he could hardly explain his smile. "Well, it is strange that the description given by the maid of this soldier—and a yeoman, mind you—should be like you. Have you a double?"
"Not that I know of."
"Then someone is impersonating you so as to arouse the wrath of your grandfather against you. Sir Simon is a proud old man, and the idea that you condescended to flirt with—"