'Mr. Beltham, I was telling Miss Beltham that I join in the abuse of London exactly because I love it. A paradox! she says. But we seem to be effecting a kind of insurance on the life of the things we love best by crying them down violently. You have observed it? Denounce them—they endure for ever! So I join any soul on earth in decrying our dear London. The naughty old City can bear it.'
There was a clearing of throats. My aunt Dorothy's foot tapped the floor.
'But I presume you have done me the honour to invite me to this conference on a point of business, Mr. Beltham?' said my father, admonished by the hint.
'I have, sir,' the squire replied.
'And I also have a point. And, in fact, it is urgent, and with your permission, Mr. Beltham, I will lead the way.'
'No, sir, if you please.
I'm a short speaker, and go to it at once, and I won't detain you a second after you've answered me.'
My father nodded to this, with the conciliatory comment that it was business-like.
The old man drew out his pocket-book.
'You paid a debt,' he said deliberately, 'amounting to twenty-one thousand pounds to my grandson's account.'