withdraw them. I must ask you to remember you are talking to one at
least in the same position as yourself, to a man of seven thousand a
year!"

"Pooh, pooh! seven thousand a year--you are making that to-day, to-
morrow you mayn't be making three. Yours isn't invested money."

Berkins had risen from the great leather armchair, and he stood
expressionless as a piece of office furniture, his grave face divided
by the green shade of the billiard lamp; Mr. Brookes remained with his
back--his straight fat back bound in a new frock coat that defined the
senile fatness of the haunches--turned to his guest. He stooped as if
to examine his favourite Linnell, but, in his passion, he did not see
it. The table, covered with a grey cloth, lay like an account spread
out between the moneyed men.

"Taking your words into due consideration, I think I had better wish
you good-morning, Mr. Brookes."

"Mr. Berkins, I would not wish you to misunderstand me," said Mr.
Brookes, whom the prospect of losing seven thousand a year had
suddenly cooled. "My daughter will have--my children, I should say--
will have my fortune divided amongst them at my death, and when we
come to go into figures you will find--"

"But in the meantime, what do you propose to settle on her?"

Mr. Brookes hesitated. He was angry at being pressed. Berkins's
domineering tone irritated him; he would have liked to bundle him from
the house.