“Cannot you understand? I do not take this property. Do not dream of taking it for a single instant!”
“You can’t be such a transcendent ass! Excuse me, but——”
“I should have thought you would have looked at this matter as I do.”
“Dear boy, all property ought to be abolished, on that we are quite agreed, but whilst it still exists in this piggish world we are bound in duty to ourselves and our neighbours to make the best of it, and get as much as we can!”
“Then you are a mere sham? A humbug? A hypocrite?”
“You mean to be rude, but I take no offence. Everybody is insincere in civilised countries.”
“What an infamous theory! I have always thought that your Richmond villa, your house at Prince’s Gate, your swell garden parties, your blood horses, and all the rest of it, were ludicrously out of keeping with your political and literary declarations of opinion.”
“Not more so than your silver tea-set and your exemplary Critchett are with yours. Don’t let us quarrel, at least not until to-morrow. I want to see more of old Folliott. He is one of the worst enemies I have, and I do so delight in drawing the claws of an enemy with my bland and benign manners. Besides, I owe him a good deal. The Torch was in its infancy when he made its fortune and set it on its legs by his libel suits. Meet me in Hyde Park at eleven to-morrow. I’ll come out of my house through Albert Gate, and we’ll go down to his office together.”
“You can go, and take my written refusal with you.”
Fanshawe gives a gesture of irritated impatience, and looks at his watch.