"I must have my money; Patricia must make the division," replied Henry doggedly.
"Certainly! Certainly! I devoutly hope she will give it to you; you need fear no interference from me. The sooner you get it and fling it away the better. Patricia has been animated by the best motives in withholding it; she regarded it as a sacred trust to administer for your own good, but now I want you to have your money."
"If I can have my share, if you will persuade her to give it, I will pay you all I owe you—" Henry began eagerly.
"What you owe me—what you owe me!" and Arthur bent toward his brother and laughed—a laugh that was not good to hear. "You would give me money—money—you would pay me money for priceless things!"
He broke off suddenly, dropping his arms at his sides helplessly.
"There is no use in trying to talk to you; we use a different vocabulary, Henry."
"But that trouble with Gillespie—if Patricia knew—"
"Yes; if she knew the truth! And you never understood, you are incapable of understanding, that it meant something to me to lose my sister out of my life. When Helen died"—and his voice fell and he paused for a moment, as a priest falters sometimes, gripped by some phrase in the office that touches hidden depths in his own experience, "then when Helen died there was still Patricia, the noblest sister men ever had; but you robbed me of her—you robbed me of her!"
He was deeply moved and, as he controlled himself, he walked to the little table and fingered the ribbons of the work-basket.
"I haven't those notes, if that's what you're after—I never had them," he said. "Gillespie kept tight hold of them."