“You refuse to show any consideration for an invalid returning home—after many years?”
“Not at all. If it is ever in our power, as neighbours, to show him any kindness, we shall be eager to do all that is possible—short of giving up our own house for his benefit. Would you do it yourself, Mr Maplestone—for the sake of a stranger you had never seen?”
He stood staring at me, his cheeks bulging with the moving lumps which show that people are swallowing down words which they dare not allow themselves to say. With the same air of elaborate patience which he had shown before, he explained slowly:—
“My cousin has been stationed in India. In a border regiment. He has served his country for thirty years. Now he has had a paralytic stroke, and is making his way home by slow stages. A man who has worked and suffered as he has done deserves a home, and the gratitude of his fellow-countrymen.”
“There are two sides to every question, Mr Maplestone. If I chose to go into details, I might convince you that Mrs Fane and I have our own claims, which seem to us equally strong.”
He leapt from his seat, and advanced until he stood directly facing my chair.
“That finishes it! It is no use appealing to your feelings. Let us make it pure business then! I offer you a hundred pounds down for the reversion of the lease!”
So it had come to this. Bribery undisguised! I lowered my eyelids, and sat silent, an image of outraged dignity.
“You refuse! It is not enough? Two hundred then! Three!”
Still silence. But my listening ears caught a threatening rustle behind the screen.