‘Reasonable enough,’ he answered.
‘One thing more,’ I said: ‘all these affairs must be pure matters of business between us.’
‘As you please,’ he returned, with, I fancied, a shadow of disappointment, if not of displeasure, on his countenance. ‘I should have been more gratified if you had accepted a friendly office; but I will do my best for you, notwithstanding.’
‘I had no intention of being unfriendly, Mr Coningham,’ I said. ‘But when I think of it, I fear I may have been rude, for the bare proposal of selling this Naboth’s vineyard of mine would go far to make me rude to any man alive. It sounds like an invitation to dishonour myself in the eyes of my ancestors.’
‘Ah! you do care about your ancestors?’ he said, half musingly, and looking into his hat.
‘Of course I do. Who is there does not?’
‘Only some ninety-nine hundredths of the English nation.’
‘I cannot well forget,’ I returned, ‘what my ancestors have done for me.’
‘Whereas most people only remember that their ancestors can do no more for them. I declare I am almost glad I offended you. It does one good to hear a young man speak like that in these degenerate days, when a buck would rather be the son of a rich brewer than a decayed gentleman. I will call again about the end of the week—that is if you will be here—and report progress.’
His manner, as he took his leave, was at once more friendly and more respectful than it had yet been—a change which I attributed to his having discovered in me more firmness than he had expected, in regard, if not of my rights, at least of my social position.