Gerald opened his astonished eyes. "Disparage him! How can he be disparaged?--he is just as low as he can be. An awful blot, nothing else, on the family escutcheon."
"The family don't seem to be troubled much by him--saving me. He appears to regard me as a sheet-anchor--who can provide for the world, himself included. I rather like the young fellow; he is so genuine."
"Don't call him young," reproved Gerald; "he'll be twenty-nine next May."
"And in mind and manners he is nineteen."
"He talks of pigs--see what he has brought his to," exclaimed Gerald, somewhat forgetting his fashion. "The--aw--low kind of work he condescends to do--the mean way he is not ashamed to confess he lives in! Every bit of family pride has gone out of him, and given place to vulgar instincts."
"As Roland has tumbled into the mire, better for him to be honest and work," returned Sir Vincent, mincing with his dry toast and one poached egg, for he was delicate in appetite. "What else could he do? Of course there's the credit system and periodical whitewashings, but I should not care to go in for that kind of thing myself."
"Are you in want of a bailiff?" growled Gerald, wondering whether the last remarks were meant to be personal.
"Greatorex has engaged one for me. How are you getting on yourself, Gerald?"
"Not--aw--at all. I'm awfully hard up."
"You always are, Ger, according to your story," was the baronet's remark, laughing slightly.