If Mr. Saunderson’s face had been capable of expressing more than displeasure, it would have done so, but he was of no plastic build, mind or body, and “displeasure” was the nearest he could get to active anger.
“You have a singular way of regarding what most men would think overpowering good luck, Mr. Masters.”
Christopher turned sharply.
“You at least cannot compel me to take that name. It has never been mine and never will be.”
“Gently, gently, young man. I am willing to make every allowance for your perturbation, but really, in speaking of my late client ...” he stopped with a shake of the head.
“I was speaking of a name, not of him, Mr. Saunderson. However, I apologise. Once more, will you let the whole matter stand still for three days. I don’t mean to accept the thing, you know, but I can’t argue it out now. I will meet you in town on Wednesday.”
“If you insist, there is nothing more to be said of course,” returned Mr. Saunderson, huffily. “As to 323 your refusing your own rights, that will be less simple than you imagine, but I shall hope you will soon view the matter in another light.”
“There was no provision made in case the inheritor should refuse or not be available?”
Christopher confronted him suddenly with the question, and the poor man, who was as completely off his balance by Christopher’s incomprehensible reception of his tidings, as that young man himself, was evidently confused.
“There were no instructions at all beyond the memorandum stating his wife and child were last heard of in Whitmansworth Union.”