"Come; don't you make mountains of molehills. What the devil's all this fuss about? Here, drink a little of this." He poured out some water, and Lord Verney did sip a little, and then gulped down a good deal, and then he looked at Arthur again fixedly, and groaned.
"That's right—never mind. I'll not hurt you. Don't fancy I mean to disturb you. I can't, you know, if I wished it ever so much. I daren't show—I know it. Don't suppose I want to bully you; the idea's impracticable. I looked in merely to tell you, in a friendly way, who I am. You must do something handsome for me, you know. Devil's in it if a fellow can't get a share of his own money, and, as I said before, we'll have no go-betweens, no Jews or attorneys. D—n them all—but settle it between ourselves, like brothers. Sip a little more water."
"Arthur, Arthur, I say, yes; good God, I feel I shall have a good deal to say; but—my head, and things—I'm a little perplexed still, and I must have a glass of wine, about it, and I can't do it now; no, I can't."
"I don't live far away, you know; and I'll look in to-morrow—we're not in a hurry."
"It was a strange idea, Arthur. Good Lord, have mercy on me!"
"Not a bad one; eh?"
"Very odd, Arthur!—God forgive you."
"Yes, my dear Kiffyn, and you, too."
"The coronet—about it? I'm placed in a dreadful position, but you shan't be compromised, Arthur. Tell them I'm not very well, and some wine, I think—a little chill."
"And to-morrow I can look in again, quietly," said the Greek merchant, "or whenever you like, and I shan't disclose our little confidence."