“He must have some scrapings somewhere. I only hope he won’t forget his graceless nephew Kester, when he comes to make his will. By-the-by, you have a brother out there, haven’t you?”
“Yes. The only brother I have.”
“Doing well?”
“Very well.”
“Ah, here comes Pierre with a couple of Digby chicks. Famous relish. Try one. And how do you like Park Newton, Li?”
“I get to like it better as I become more familiar with it. It grows upon one day by day.”
“Sweet old spot! For years and years I never dreamed that any one other than myself would be its master after my uncle’s death.”
“We all thought the same,” said Lionel. “You will give me credit for sincerity when I say that no one could have been more surprised than I was by the contents of Uncle Arthur’s will.”
“I know it; I know it. From the day I quarrelled with my uncle, I felt that my chance was gone for ever. It was only right that you should be made the heir, vice Kester in disgrace. If there had been no such person as you in existence, the property would have been left either to your brother or to Uncle Lionel. If they had both been dead, Park Newton would have gone to some hospital or asylum. In no case would a single shilling have ever come to me.” Kester spoke with exceeding bitterness, and Lionel could not wonder at it. But his gloom did not last more than a minute or two. He shook it off lightly. “Che sarà, sarà,” he said, with a shrug and a laugh. Then he rose, and got his cigar-case. “Let us have a smoke,” he said. “After all, life in Bohemia is very jolly. It is pleasant to live by one’s wits at the expense of other people who have none. Fools fortunately abound in this world; while they are plentiful, men of brains need never starve.” This was said with a sort of defiant cynicism that it pained Lionel to hear.
“Kester,” he said, “something was told me the other day that I never heard of before; something that affects you.”