As the brothers confronted one another, the legitimate and the base–born, the man of tact and the man of force, the luxurious and the labourer, strangely unlike in many respects, more strangely alike in others; each felt kindly and tenderly, yet timidly, for the other.
The old man thought of the lying wrong inflicted upon the stronger one by their common father; the other felt the worse wrong—if possible—done by himself to his brother. The measure of such things is not for us. God knows, and visits, and forgives them.
Even by the failing light—for the sun was westering, and a cloud flowed over him—each could see that the otherʼs face was not as it should be, that the flight of weeks was drawing age on, more than the lapse of years should.
“Garnet, you do a great deal too much. I shall recall my urgent request, if you look so harassed and haggard. Take a holiday now for a month, before the midsummer rents fall due. I will try to do without you; though I may want you any day.”
“I will do nothing of the sort; work is needful for me—without it I should die. But you also look very unwell. You must not attempt to prescribe for me.”
“I have not been happy lately. By–and–by things will be better. What is your impression of Mrs. Nowell Corklemore?”
“That she is an arrant hypocrite, unscrupulous, foul, and deadly.”
“Well, that is plain speaking; by no means complimentary. Poor Georgie, I hope you misjudge her, as she says bad people do. But for the present she is gone. There has been a great fight, all along, between her and Eoa; they could not bear one another. And now my niece has discovered a thing which brings me to her side in the matter, for she at least is genuine.”
“That she is indeed, and genuinely passionate; you may trust her with anything. She has been very rude indeed to me; and yet I like her wonderfully. What has she discovered?”
“That Mrs. Corklemore is at the bottom of this horrible application for a warrant against my son.”