The chill voice of Andrew interrupted this catalogue.
"Once you go away, you've got to stay away."
"Stay away!"
"Your allowance will depend on that."
"My allowance!" gasped Heriot.
"Your estate has got to be administered by me just as though you were" (instinctively this pious young man's face grew solemn) "taken away from us."
"I wish I were not your father," sighed Heriot. "In happier circumstances, the pleasure of kicking you would just be immense."
Andrew disliked physical brutality. His cheeks grew flabbier at the very idea of such an outrage—even in theory.
"If you were to try anything of that kind, I warn you I'd withdraw my alternative."