“And the West India money?” Gervase said.
“You had come to no conclusion at the time of the settlement,” said Mr Thursley. “The West India estate was personal property. It is a thing that has ceased to count for much in anybody’s calculations. Nothing but your sense and true business spirit—let me say so, my boy, whether you take it as a compliment or not—could have made so much of it. Thank heaven, Gervase, it is a nest-egg with which nobody has anything to do.”
“Was there no mention made of it, then, at all? Did nobody know? Was he unaware that he had so much to fall back upon?”
“He was not unaware,” said Mr Thursley, uneasily. “He did get your last letter—but not till after the arrangement was made and all settled. He was too glad to think that you—would still have something to depend upon.”
“I don’t understand,” Gervase said, almost rudely; “the arrangement—what does that mean?—was everything paid?”
“Yes; everything was paid—that was demanded. It was all settled—in the most honourable way.”
“There is something behind that I don’t understand:—settled in an honourable way—all paid that was demanded. What does that mean, Mr Thursley? It sounds like something equivocal, something not so honest as the words. Tell me, without the commercial slang. I’m too dull to understand.”
“That’s not very respectful, my young friend.”
“Papa, Gervase doesn’t mean to be disrespectful. Don’t you see that he is done, that there is no strength left in him?”
“I mean no harm,” Gervase said. “For God’s sake, tell me in plain words—was everything paid?”