“There seems nothing more to be said, Mr. Hart,” said Hugh.
“You quite realise that when my daughter leaves this house, the clothes that cover her will be her sole possession?”
“I have told you—I am immensely relieved. As to our business relations——”
“They can be discussed on a future occasion.”
Proud as he was of his birth and breeding, Hugh could not but be abashed before this pride of race that transformed the vulgar usurer into a gentleman of fine feeling. Israel’s words and attitude had not conveyed the slightest reproach on the score of fortune-hunting. He had cast neither his poverty nor his debt in his teeth. A great feeling of respect for the old man rose in his heart.
“Believe me,” he said after a turn across the room; “if fate would allow it, I would give up the idea for your sake.”
“We all make our destiny,” replied the old man, bitterly. “I have made mine.”
A few moments later Hugh took his leave. Israel accompanied him to the front door, shook hands with him, and, turning out the light in the hall, went back to his study. Then he remembered that he had forgotten to secure the door.
“I will do it afterwards,” he said to himself.
He picked up the will, glanced through it and replaced it in the safe. For half an hour he sat in deep thought; then rose, went upstairs and returned, bringing with him a small padlocked ledger. He sat down in his writing-chair by the table, but remained in deep thought, tapping the unopened book with his fingers.