And then he fell to thinking of his nephew, the only son of his brother,
whom he had once loved, before he lost himself in publishing books and
making money, and sighed. He had been attached to the lad in his own
coarse way, and it was a blow to him to cut himself loose from him. But
Eustace had defied him, and--what was worse--he had told him the truth,
which he, of all men, could not bear. He had said that his system of
trade was dishonest, that he took more than his due, and it was so. He
knew it; but he could not tolerate that it should be told him, and that
his whole life should thereby be discredited, and even his accumulated
gold tarnished--stamped as ill-gotten; least of all could he bear it
from his dependent. He was not altogether a bad man; nobody is; he was
only a coarse, vulgar tradesman, hardened and defiled by a long career
of sharp dealing. At the bottom, he had his feelings like other men, but
he could not tolerate exposure or even contradiction; therefore he had
revenged himself. And yet, as he sat there, in solitary glory, he
realized that to revenge does not bring happiness, and could even find
it in his heart to envy the steadfast honesty that had defied him at the
cost of his own ruin.

Not that he meant to relent or alter his determination. Mr. Meeson never
relented, and never changed his mind. Had he done so he would not at
that moment have been the master of two millions of money.




CHAPTER III.

AUGUSTA'S LITTLE SISTER.