XXIX
When Peter found his uncle stretched helplessly in bed with all the ceremony about him of an urgent case, he reproached himself for having thought of him so little during his years of health. He had taken his uncle for granted as the sanguine and gracious benefactor. It had not occurred to him to probe the motives of his uncle's affection, or to ask whether he was making him an adequate return.
Now it was too late. When Peter arrived in Hamingburgh his uncle was already unconscious, and he did not recover sufficiently to recognise his nephew. A sudden seizure ended with a rush of blood to the brain; and Peter was left heir to a personal estate of over £90,000. Peter had to be content with his mother's assurance that his uncle died with entire faith in his nephew's ability to spend a fortune.
The next weeks passed in ending all connection with Hamingburgh, which Peter now found intolerable, and in preparing for life in London commensurate with his new ideas. He took rooms for himself and his mother in Curzon Street, to be made ready for the autumn season.
"We will have everything very beautiful, and we will have only what is necessary," he told his mother as they talked things over in their flat at Golder's Green. "Of course we must sell all this stuff."
He waved his hands in an inclusive gesture toward the chairs and tables. Mrs. Paragon mildly looked about her.
"But, Peter, I thought you liked all this pretty furniture."
"It's modern," said Peter briefly. "There is no such thing as modern furniture. Ask Marbury."