‘Michael, what does it mean?’
‘It means that my brother is very clever, and I am a great blockhead. I am fain to doff before his superior wisdom.’
Gilbert, his arms still folded across his chest, was looking at them, pale, calm, and seemingly self-possessed.
‘Take heed of what you say, Michael,’ he said, quietly. ‘Abuse, even from——’
‘I am going to do nothing but praise and congratulate you on your great wisdom and astuteness,’ replied Michael, flashing a look of such trenchant contempt towards his brother, that Gilbert’s own eyes sank before it. It was a new sensation for him to find himself despised by the man for whose simplicity he had always entertained such a finely ironical contempt.
‘Only,’ resumed Michael, speaking so clearly that not a word could be lost of what he said, ‘it is a pity my father did not appreciate you better. He should have left you the other two thousand out and out. Unless you take pity on it, it will be useless, for I shall never touch it.’
‘Now, Michael, Michael, madman! Beware what you say!’ cried the little doctor, stamping about, as middle-age does when cash is blasphemed or lightly spoken of.
Michael, having patiently waited till this apostrophe had been contributed to the conversation, but who heeded it not at all, suddenly bent towards Gilbert, fixed his burning eyes upon him, and said, in a lower voice, but one which was still distinctly audible to them all—
‘Two thousand, Gilbert; it is an odd coincidence. Do you remember my saying to you long ago, that if I’d two thousand to start with I would be married to-morrow—eh?’
Gilbert neither moved nor raised his head.