'I may as well get warm,' he observed. 'I expect we shall have a regular snowstorm before night. Look at that leaden sky! Well, what now?'
For Audrey was kneeling on the rug, and she was looking at him with her brightest and most bewitching smile.
'Michael, I am so glad, so very, very glad. I think I am as pleased as though the fortune were mine.'
'Do you think that is a decent remark to make to a fellow who has just lost his uncle? Really, Audrey, you may well look ashamed of yourself; I quite blush for you. "Avarice, thy name is woman!"'
'Now, Michael, don't be absurd. I am not a bit ashamed of myself. Of course, I am sorry the poor man is dead; but as I never saw him, I cannot be excessively grieved; but I am delighted that he has done the right thing and left you all his money, and I am sure in your heart that you are glad, too.'
'It does not strike you that I may regard it in the light of an unmitigated bore. What does an old bachelor like myself want with this heap of money? I should like to know how I am to spend six or seven thousand a year—why, the very idea is oppressive!'
'You are very good at pretence, Michael; as though I am not clever enough to see through that flimsy attempt at philosophy! You think it would be infra dig. to look too delighted.'
'Oh, you think I am going in for a stoic?' he returned blandly.
'Yes, but you are not really one; you were never cut out for a poor man, Michael; the rôle did not suit you at all. It is a pain and a grief to you to travel second class, and it is only the best of everything that is good enough for you; and you like to put up at first-class hotels, and to have all the waiters and railway officials crowding round you. Even when we were in Scotland the gillie took you for some titled aristocrat, you were so lavish with your money. It is a way you have, Michael, to open your purse for everyone. No wonder the poor widow living down by the fir-plantation called you the noble English gentleman.'
'Why, what nonsense you talk!' he replied.