“He’s a gentleman—that’s much. And a Griffin, and that’s more, in a place like this. And he’s—yes, he’s certainly clever.”
“Cleverer than Mr. Rodd?”
“Rodd! Pooh! Arthur’s worth two of him.”
“Quite the industrious apprentice!” she murmured, her hands in her lap.
“Well, you know,” lightly, “what happened to the industrious apprentice, Betty?”
She colored. “He married his master’s daughter, didn’t he? But there are two words to that, father. Quite two words.”
“Well, I am going to offer him a small share. Anything more will depend upon himself—and Clement.”
She sighed. “Poor Clement!”
“Poor Clement!” The banker repeated her words pettishly. “Not poor Clement, but idle Clement! Can you do nothing with that boy? Put no sense into him? He’s good for nothing in the world except to moon about with a gun. Last night he began to talk to me about Cobbett and some new wheat. New wheat, indeed! Rubbish!”
“But I think,” timidly, “that he does understand about those things, father.”