Emanuel began speaking at once. “My father,” he said, “has given me a rough outline of what you have seen and heard. In the nature of things, it could not all be pleasant.”
“Oh, I have quite forgotten the unhappy parts,” the young man declared. “I resolved to do that; it would be folly to remember them.”
“They have their uses, though,” persisted the other. “I wanted you to start out with just that impression of the family’s seamy side. We have an immense deal to make up to the people about us, and to humanity in general, have we Torrs. It seemed to me that you could not realize this too early in your experience here. What impressions did Caermere itself make upon you?”
Christian hesitated a little, to give form to his thoughts. “I am imagining it in my mind,” he said at last, slowly, and with extended hands to shape his meaning to the eye, “as a huge canvas, one of the very biggest. As it happens, there is an unpleasant picture on it now, but that can be wiped out, covered over, and then on the vast blank surface a new and splendid picture may be painted—if I have the skill to do it.” He paused, as his companion nodded comprehension of the figure, and then added abruptly: “I have not put the question direct before—but it is really the case that I am to succeed my grandfather—to be duke of Glastonbury, is it not?”
“Yes,” answered Emanuel, gravely. “That is the case.”
“Lord Julius told me to ask you everything,” Christian went on in defense of his curiosity. “But, grand Dieu! there is so much to ask! Shall I be a rich man, also? There are dukes in France who can scarcely give a dinner to a friend—and in Italy who are often in doubt about even their own dinners. I understand that English dukes are different—but it has been said to me that my grandfather, for example, is not a rich man. He would be rich, no doubt, in some other station, but as a duke he is poor. Shall I also be poor?”
Emanuel smiled, more, it seemed, to himself than for the benefit of the young man. With amusing deliberation he took from his pocket a little oblong book with flexible covers. “Have you ever owned a checkbook?” he asked drily.
Christian shook his head.
“Well, this is yours. It came from London this morning. I have written here on the back of the first check, on the part that remains in the book, these figures. They show what the bank holds at your disposal at the present moment.”
Christian took the book, and stared with awe at the figures indicated. “Three thousand pounds! That is to say, seventy-five thousand francs! But—I do not understand. What portion is this of my entire fortune? There is more besides—to come at some future period—n’est ce pas?”