"The object of his tying me down to pay over to my mother a portion of the profits is, because she has not enough to live on without it. There need be no secret about it. I am to give her a third of the income I make, whatsoever it may be." "One final word, Valentine: will you be just and take me in?" "No, Tom, I cannot. And there's another thing. I don't wish to be mean, I'm sure; it's not in my nature: but with all my own expenses upon me and this third that I must hand over to my people, I fear I shall not be able to continue to give your mother the hundred and fifty a-year that my father has allowed her so long." "You cannot help yourself, Valentine. That much is provided for in the original partnership deed, and you are bound by it." "No," dissented Valentine, flicking a speck off the front of his black coat. "My father might have been bound by it, but I am not. Now that the two original partners are dead, the deed is cancelled, don't you see. It is not binding upon me." "I think you are mistaken: but I will leave that question for this morning. Is your decision, not to give me a share, final?" "It is." "Let me make one remark. You say the codicil stipulates that you shall pay a third of the profits to your mother--and it is a very just and right thing to do. Valentine, rely upon it, that your father's last intentions were that, of the other two-thirds left, one of them should be mine." Valentine flushed red. He had a florid complexion at all times, something like salmon-colour. Very different from Tom's, which was clear and healthy. "We won't talk any more about it, Tom. How you can get such crotchets into your head, I can't imagine. If you sit there till midday, I can say no more than I have said: I cannot take you into partnership." "Then I shall leave you," said Tom, rising. He was a fine-looking young fellow, standing there with his arm on the back of the client's chair, in which he had sat; tall and straight. His good, honest face had a shade of pain in it, as it gazed straight out to Valentine's. He looked his full six-and-twenty years. "Well, I wish you would leave me, Tom," replied Valentine, carelessly. "I have heaps to do this morning." "Leave the office, I mean. Leave you for good." "Nonsense!" "Though your father did not give me the rights that were my just due, I remained on, expecting and hoping that he would give them some time. It was my duty to remain with him; at least, my mother told me so; and perhaps my interest. But the case is changed now. I will not stay with you, Valentine, unless you do me justice; I shall leave you now. Now, this hour." "But you can't, Tom. You would put me to frightful inconvenience."