"Well, I cannot give you the photograph," the elderly Scotchman continued, in his friendly way, "but, if you like, I will have it copied—perhaps even enlarged, if it will stand it—and I will send you one——"
"Will you?" said Vincent, with a flash of gratitude in his eyes. "To me it would be simply a priceless treasure."
"I just thought it would be," Mr. Thompson said, considerately. "I've seen something of the ways of young people in my time. Yes; I'll send you a copy or two as soon as I can get them done."
Vincent handed back the photograph—reluctantly, and keeping his eyes on it until it had disappeared.
"I brought it out to show you she could sign her name properly when under proper instruction," the banker continued. "And now to return to her grandfather, who seems to have puzzled you a little, as well might be the case. I can see how you have been trying to blind yourself to certain things: no doubt you looked towards Margaret, and thought she would make up for all. But I surmise you have been a little unjust to my old friend; notwithstanding your association with him, you have not quite understood him; and perhaps that is hardly to be wondered at. And certainly you would never take him to be what I consider him to be—a very great man who has been spoiled by a fatal inheritance. I do truly and honestly believe there were the makings of a great man in George Bethune—a man with his indomitable pluck and self-reliance, his imagination, his restless energy, his splendid audacity and independence of character. Even now I see something heroic in him: he seems to me a man of heroic build—of heroic attitude towards the rest of the world: people may say what they like about George Bethune; but I know him better than most, and I wholly admire him and love him. If it hadn't been for that miserable property! I suppose, now, a large estate may turn out a fortunate or unfortunate legacy accordingly as you use it; but if your legacy is only the knowledge that the estate ought to be yours, and isn't, that is a fine set of circumstances! And I have little doubt it was to forget that wretched lawsuit, to escape from a ceaseless and useless disappointment, that he took refuge in a world of imagination, and built up delusions round about him—just as other people take refuge in gin or in opium. At all events, his spirit has not been crushed. Did you ever hear him whine and complain?—I should think not! He has kept a stout heart, has old George Bethune. Perhaps, indeed, his pride has been excessive. Here am I, for example: I'm getting well on in years, and I haven't a single near relative now living; I've scraped together a few sixpences in my time; and nothing would give me greater pleasure than if George Bethune were to come to me and ask me to share my purse with him. And he knows it too. But would he? Not a bit! Rather than come to me and get some useful sum, he would go and get a few pounds out of some newspaper-office on account of one of his frantic schemes to do something fine for poor old Scotland. No," the banker proceeded, with rather an injured air, "I suppose I'm not distinguished enough. Friend George has some very high and mighty notions about the claims of long descent—and noblesse oblige—and all that. It is a condescension on his part to accept help from any one; and it is the privilege of those who have birth and lineage like himself to be allowed to come to his aid. I'm only Thompson. If I were descended from Richard Coeur de Lion I suppose it would be different. Has he ever accepted any money from you?"
"Never," said Vincent—who was not going to recall a few restaurant bills and cab fares.
"No," resumed the banker, "Your name is Harris. But when it comes to Lord Musselburgh, that is quite different, that is all right. No doubt Lord Musselburgh was quite proud to be allowed to subscribe—how much was it?—towards a book that never came out."
"Oh, but I ought to explain that that money was paid back," said Vincent, quickly.
"Paid back?" repeated the banker, staring. "That is a new feature, indeed! The money paid back to Lord Musselburgh? How did that come about? How did friend George yield to a weakness of that kind?"
"The fact is," said Vincent, blushing like a school-boy, "I paid it."