The other looked at his watch. “I must, for a bit,” he said. “Go up and talk to your aunt for an hour before dinner. She's dying to hear all the gossip.”
It was useless to try to restrain him. He had an imperious will to which Sylvester had yielded all his life. So the son went upstairs, and the father put on his overcoat and walked at a brisk pace through the dark December evening to the house of his enemy.
Mr. Usher put down the “Financial News” and rose from his chair as Matthew entered the room.
“My dear friend, how great a surprise! You have come for a reconciliation. It is a Christian thing. I too am a Christian, Matthew.”
“I have come to ask you a question,” said Matthew, ignoring the other's proffered hand. “Roderick denies that he receives any allowance from you. Is that true?”
“I am too poor to make my son an allowance,” replied Usher.
“You know what I mean,” replied Matthew, sternly. “I pay £100 a quarter into your banking account for you to remit, as from yourself, to Roderick. Does he get it?”
Ushers eyes shifted from Matthew's glance. He shuffled a step towards the fireplace before replying.
“You outrage a father's feelings, Matthew. I live for my son. You yourself have a son.”
Matthew strode up to him and laid a hand on his collar.