“Why should he? He has heard no good of you from my uncle, or from his mother; he has been treated in all things as though he had been the heir; so much indulged and petted — well, talking pays no toll, or there is much I could say to you! To him, you are a usurper.”
Gervase finished his brandy, and set down the glass. “I see. It is melancholy indeed! Something tells me that I shall not be at Stanyon for very long.”
“What do you mean?” Theo said sharply.
Gervase looked at him, a little bewildered. “Why, what should I mean?”
“Martin is rash — his temper is uncontrollable, but he would not murder you, Gervase!”
“Murder me! Good God, I should hope he would not!” exclaimed the Earl, laughing. “No, no, I only meant that I think I should prefer to live at Maplefield, or Studham — ah, no! Studham was not entailed, was it? It belongs to Martin!”
“Yes, it belongs to Martin, along with the Jamaican property,” said Theo grimly. “And your stepmother has the London house and the Dower House for the term of her life!”
“I grudge her neither,” replied the Earl lightly.
“When I can bring you to pay a little heed to the way in which things are left, you may well grudge the pair of them a great deal of what they now stand possessed!” retorted Theo. “I have sometimes thought that my uncle had taken leave of his senses! You have me to thank for it that the estate is not cut up even more!”
“I think I have you to thank for more than you would have me guess,” St. Erth said, smiling across at him. “You have been a good friend to me, Theo, and I thank you for it.”