“Let the old man rest,” said the squire, with a lurid look.
“I say, if the old man had known how you were going to spend his money, sotting from morning to night—”
“He’d have left it to you to spend on the loose, eh?”
“Loose? Why, you are ten times as loose as I am; but you are so proud of your good name that you sneak about in the dark to do your dissipation. I am manly and straightforward in mine.”
“Yes, you’re a beauty,” said the squire mockingly. “Which of those girls are you going to marry—Leo Salis or Dally Watlock?”
“You mind your own affairs, and leave me to manage mine!” said Tom Candlish fiercely.
“But I should like to know,” said the squire, “because then I could arrange about the paper and furniture for the rooms.”
“Do you want to quarrel, Luke?”
“Quarrel?” chuckled the squire; “not I. Trying to be brotherly and to make things pleasant. If it is to be Leo, of course we must have greys and sage greens and terra cottas. If it is to be Dally Watlock, we must go in for red and yellow and purple. How delightful to have the sexton’s granddaughter for a sister! I say, Tom, how happy we shall be!”
Tom Candlish turned upon his brother furiously, as if about to strike; and the squire, though apparently laughing over his banter, and about to play, kept upon his guard.