Max started back, with horror in his countenance, and glared at Hopper, whose countenance, however, never for a moment changed; and he hastily poured himself out a glass of port and tossed it off.
“Very hard upon you, Max. I wish I was rich, and could help you. For you have been hit hard, of course. Never mind: you’ve that violent girl’s money in hand—six thousand. Make one of your boys marry her, and that’ll be all right.”
Max winced visibly.
“Haven’t spent it, have you?” continued Hopper, watching him from the corners of his eyes. “No, you’re too good a man for that? and it would be ugly.”
“Shall we go up to the drawing-room?” said Max, rising.
“Hey? Go upstairs? No, not to-night, thankye. Say good-bye to the ladies. I’ll be off now. Thankye for a bad dinner. More wine? No, I’m going to my lodging, for a quiet pipe and a glass of toddy before bed. Wretched weather, ain’t it? All right: I can get my coat on. Thankye, Max, thankye. I sha’n’t die yet, you know; your secret’s all right. Stop till I put on my respirator, so as to keep my lungs all right for your sake. Now my hat and stick. Thankye.”
He buttoned his coat tightly, looped the elastic of his respirator over his ears, and then stumbled to the door, gave the mat an ugly stab with his stick, nodded, did not shake hands, and went stumping down the street, talking to himself the while.
“I wonder whether that Tom is a trump at bottom?” he said. “I don’t know yet, but there’s a bit of a mystery over it all; and about Fred and that girl Jessie. She’s a puzzle, too. I wouldn’t have thought it of her; but I never did understand women. And so old Max is hit hard. Well, it’s the old saying, ‘Money got over old What’s-his-name’s back’s spent under his chest;’ and I’m sure of it. I’d swear it. He’s spent every penny of that violent girl’s fortune, as sure as my name’s Hopper, which it really is.”