"_Benissimo_!" Daniel had just lit a cigar; he lounged gracefully,
observing his brother with an eye of veiled keenness. "Well, I think
there is no harm in telling you that you are entitled to something
--your mother's money, you know."

"I had no idea of it," replied Piers, whom the news had in 'some
degree excited.

"Apropos, why don't you live with father? Couldn't you read as well
down there?"

"Not quite, I think, and--the truth is, the stepmother doesn't
much like me. She's rather difficult to get on with you know."

"I imagined it. So you're just in lodgings?"

"I am with some people called Hannaford. I got to know them at
Geneva--they're not very well off; I have a room and they board
me."

"I must look you up there--Piers, my dear boy, I suppose you know
your mother's history?"

It was asked with an affected carelessness, with a look suggestive
of delicacy in approaching the subject. More and more perturbed,
Piers abruptly declared his ignorance; he sat in an awkward
attitude, bending forward; his brows were knit, his dark eyes had a
solemn intensity, and his square jaw asserted itself more than
usual.