“I do not comprehend you, Mr. Gomer!” responded Wilton, still in the same distant tone. “If I appoint you to manage an affair for me, giving you a carte blanche to act in the matter, I consider it a reflection upon my honour to assume that I should be dissatisfied with your award.”
“Listen, Wilton!” exclaimed Gomer, striking the table a sharp, angry blow. “The individual who saved your life at the most critical instant of its jeopardy would spurn a money compensation.”
Mr. Wilton opened his half-closed eyes.
“I suspect that, although it was at the risk of his own life he saved yours, he attaches but little credit to his deed,” continued Gomer, “for he would have acted precisely in the same way to save the meanest wretch in existence.”
“Oh!—a—well, if he attaches no importance to the act,” said Wilton, shrugging his shoulders with the air of one who considered his dignity reflected on, “why of course, I——”
“Must!” suggested Gomer, with emphatic shrillness, “for his gallant rescue was everything in the world to you—children, Harleydale, Eglinton, all—all. Therefore, though he may view his conduct with disinterested eyes, you cannot, and you should reward him fittingly.”
“But—a—I must suggest that there is a wide distinction between the meanest wretch in existence and a—a—the owner of——”
“Yourself, you mean,” interrupted Gomer, bluntly; “that is exactly why you should reward him as becomes your position.”
“I empower you to do so,” said Wilton, with a most dignified gesture.
“Softly,” said Gomer. “You are also indebted to him, not only for the life, but the preservation of your daughter’s honour.”