"Relation?" He sought for inspiration from the ceiling. "Cousin."
"Cousin? I see. You're sure he's not your father?"
"Father? No, certainly not! Absolutely not! There's not the slightest ground for any presumption of the kind."
"You won't get the twenty guineas."
"Madam!"
"Lied again."
"I will be candid with you, madam. I will tell you the truth. Why should I conceal it?" Mr. Trevannion shot his cuffs. They were a trifle soiled. "The fact is that, for reasons of his own--what they are I have not the slightest notion! I think it possible that they may not be wholly to his credit! Mr. Reginald Townsend does not appear anxious to advertise the particular degree of consanguinity which binds us to each other--or, rather, which ought to bind us to each other--because, as a matter of fact, so far as he is concerned, with me affection never dies! I never can forget that the same heart nourished us both!--the binding is merely theoretical I'm his brother--his elder brother--and, as such, qualified to take my place beside him in all the salons of the land."
He looked his brother. I had guessed he was a sort of Corsican brother from the first. He was like a caricature--all alive, oh!--of my friend the gentleman; reminding me of nothing so much as a picture I once saw in "Cassell's Popular Educator." It was called "The Child: What shall become of Him?" On the top line they showed you portraits of the child at various periods of his life, as he advanced towards honoured age. While, on the bottom line, were portraits of the child, also at various periods of his life, as he advanced towards the other kind of age. Mr. Trevannion recalled the portraits of the child advanced towards the other kind of age.
While he still continued in the pose which he had done his best to strike, and before either of us had spoken again, Mr. Haines came in.
Mr. Haines made short work of this brother whose affection did not die. He counted nine five-pound notes and five separate sovereigns on the table.