“The pheasants ought to do well this year; they have had a wonderful fine time for hatching.”
“Indeed. I think you said that you wished to speak to me about some business.”
“You are not rearing any this season, are you?”
“No: I am sorry to say that I have other chicks to hatch at present. But about the business?”
“All right, Graves; I am coming to that. The pheasants lead up to it. Fortiter in modo, as Ellen says.”
“Does she? Well, it is not a bad motto for her, though it’s wrong. Well, if we have done with the pheasants——”
There was yet another pause, and then Edward said suddenly, and with effort:
“You are not rearing any pheasants, Graves, because you can’t afford to; in fact, I have just found out that you are bankrupt, and the whole thing is a swindle, and that Ellen won’t have a farthing of her eight thousand pounds. She has sent me up here to talk to you about it.”
“Has she? That is fortiter in modo and no mistake. Well, talk on, Mr. Milward. But, before you begin, let me remind you that I asked you to stop and hear what passed after the reading of the will yesterday, and you would not.”
“Oh, bother the will! It is a fraud, like everything else in this place. I tell you, Graves——”