"I probably deserve it.
But you will not alter my determination."
He stood leaning on the back of a chair, looking down on Melrose. Some
bondage had broken in his soul! A tide of some beneficent force seemed to
be flooding its dry wastes.
Melrose paused. In the silence each measured the other. Then Melrose said
in a voice which had grown husky:
"So--the first return you are asked to make, for all that has been
lavished upon you, you meet with--this refusal. That throws a new light
upon your character. I never proposed to leave my fortune to an
adventurer! I proposed to leave it to a gentleman, capable of
understanding an obligation. We have mistaken each other--and our
arrangement--drops. Unless you consent to the very small request--the
very advantageous proposal rather--which I have just made you--you will
leave this room--as penniless--except for any savings you may have made
out of your preposterous salary--as penniless--as you came into it!"
Faversham raised himself. He drew a long breath, as of a man delivered.
"Do what you like, Mr. Melrose. There was a time when it seemed as if
our cooperation might have been of service to both. But some devil in
you--and a greedy mind in me--the temptation of your money--oh, I
confess it, frankly--have ruined our partnership--and indeed--much
else! I resume my freedom--I leave your house to-morrow. And now,
please--return me my gems!"
He peremptorily held out his hand. Melrose glared upon him.
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