"All right, dear. You have my best wishes. But keep on the job…. I'll clear out; you want to dress—"
"Wait a moment." He sat down to draw on his socks. "I'm really cut up over Mrs. Groome's death. She was my only friend in this damn family, and I coveted her money so little that I wish she could have lived on for twenty years."
"I wondered how you liked them as time went on."
He brought his teeth together and thrust out his jaw. "I hate the whole pack of superior patronizing condescending snobs, and it is all I can do to keep it from Alexina, who thinks her tribe perfection. But, by God!"—he brought down his fist on his knee—"I'll beat them at their own game yet. I simply live to make a million and build a house at Burlingame. They really respect money as much as they think they don't; I've got oil to that. When I'm a rich roan they'll think of me as their equal and forget I was ever anything' else."
"Well, don't speculate," said Gora uneasily. "Remember that luck was left out of our family."
"My luck changed with that legacy. I am certain of it. I have only to wait until this period of dry rot passes—"
"But you're not speculating?"
He looked at her with eyes as cold as her own.
"I answer questions about my private affairs to no one."
"They are my affairs to the extent of half your capital."