“Sir, it was that sporting man, Jolly, who said it. He fastened himself on me last evening in going from here, and I could not get rid of him until ten at night. We were talking about different things: the great discount houses in London and one thing or another; and he said, incidentally, that Mr. George Godolphin had a good deal of paper in the market.”
Thomas Godolphin paused. “Did he assert that he knew this?”
“He pretended to assert many things, as of his own knowledge. I asked him how he knew it, and he replied a friend of his had seen it—meaning the paper. It was all he said; and how I came to repeat such a thing after him, I cannot tell. I hope you will excuse it, sir.”
“I cannot help excusing it,” replied Mr. Godolphin. “You said the thing, and you cannot unsay it. It was very wrong. Take care that you do not give utterance to it again.”
Layton withdrew, inwardly vowing that he never would. In point of fact, he had not attached much weight to the information; and could now have bitten his tongue out for repeating it. He wondered whether they could prosecute him for slander: or whether, if it came to the ears of Mr. George, he would. Mr. Godolphin had met it with the considerate generosity ever characteristic of him; but Mr. George was different from his brother. If ever a man in this world lived up to the Divine command, “Do as ye would be done by,” that man was Thomas Godolphin.
But the words, nevertheless, grated on Thomas Godolphin’s ears. That George was needlessly lavish in expenditure, he knew: but not more so than his income allowed, if he chose to spend it all—unless he had secret sources of expense. A change came over Thomas Godolphin’s face as the idea suggested itself to his mind. Once in the train of thought he could not stop it. Had George private channels for expenditure, of which the world knew nothing? Could he have been using the Bank’s money?—could it be he who had taken Lord Averil’s deeds? Like unto Isaac Hastings, the red flush of shame dyed Thomas’s brow at the thought—shame for his own obtrusive imagination that could conjure up such a fancy against his brother. Thomas had never conjured it up, but for the suggestion gratuitously imparted to him by Layton.
But he could not drive it down. No; like the vision which had been gratuitously presented to the Reverend Mr. Hastings, and which he had been unable to dismiss, Thomas Godolphin could not drive it away. In a sort of panic—a panic caused by his own thoughts—he called for certain of the books to be brought to him.
Some of those wanted were in George Godolphin’s room. It was Isaac Hastings who was sent in there for them.
“The books!” exclaimed George, looking at Isaac.
“Mr. Godolphin wants them, sir.”