"
Arthur nodded.
"I see," he said. He was rather vague about it all, and had not quite
realised yet that this was all true, that this man whom he still hated
and distrusted without any apparent reason was real and living, speaking
to him in real waking life and not in a dream. Moreover, he had not
nearly realised that Jem was alive. The evidence of his own black
clothes, of the sombre-edged stationery, of his mourning habit of life
this term, was too strong upon a mind like his to be suddenly thrown
aside. Perhaps he had discovered that the consolation of inheritance was
greater than was at first apparent. In six weeks he had slipped very
comfortably into Jem's shoes, and it seemed only right and proper that
his life should have a background of the noble proportions of Stagholme.
Also, now Stagholme meant Dora; for he was worldly-wise enough to know
that his own personal value in the world's estimation had undergone a
great change in six short weeks. He knew that the man with the money
usually wins.
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