“Did I not tell you?” he resumed. “Did I not say she was a liar? I never did your mother a wrong--nor you neither, though I did swear at you a bit, you were so damned ugly. I don't blame you. You couldn't help it! Lord, what a display the woman made of your fingers and toes, as if the webs were something to be proud of, and atoned for the face!--Can you swim?” “Fairly well, sir,” answered Richard carelessly. “Your mother swam like a--Naiad, was it--or Nereid?--I forget--damn it!” “I don't know the difference in their swimming.” “Nor any other difference, I dare say!” “I know the one was a nymph of the sea, the other of a river.” “Oh! you know Greek, then?” “I wish I did, sir: I was not long enough at school. I had to learn a trade and be independent.” “By Jove, I wish I knew a trade and was independent! But you shall learn Greek, my boy! There will be some good in teaching _you_! _I_ never learned anything?--But how the deuce do you know about Naiads and Nereids and all that bosh, if you don't know Greek?” “I know my Keats, sir. I had to plough with his heifer though--use my _Lempriere_, I mean!” “Good heavens!” said the baronet, who knew as little of Keats as any Lap.--“I wish I had been content to take you with all your ugliness, and bring you up myself, instead of marrying Lot's widow!” Richard fancied he preferred the bringing up he had had, but he said nothing. Indeed he could make nothing of the whole business. How was it that, if sir Wilton had done his mother no wrong, his mother was the wife of John Tuke? He was bewildered. “You wouldn't like to learn Greek, then?” said his father. “Yes, sir; indeed I should!” “Why don't you say so then? I never saw such a block! I say you _shall_ learn Greek!--Why do you stand there looking like a dead oyster?” “I beg your pardon, sir! May I have the other cheque?” “What other cheque?” “The cheque there for my brother and sister, sir,” answered Richard, pointing to it where the baronet had laid it, on the other side of him. “Brother and sister!” “The Mansons, sir,” persisted Richard. “Oh, give them the cheque and be damned to them! But remember they're no brother and sister of yours, and must never be alluded to as such, or as persons you have any knowledge of. When you've given them that,”--he pointed to the cheque which still lay beside him--“you drop their acquaintance.” “That I cannot do, sir.” “There's a good beginning now! But I might have expected it!--You tell me to my face you won't do what I order you?” “I can't, sir; it wouldn't be right.” “Fiddlesticks!--Wouldn't be right! What's that to you? It's my business. You've got to do what I tell you.” “I must go by my conscience, sir.” “Oh, damn your conscience! Will you promise, or will you not? You're to have nothing to say to those young persons.” “I will not promise.” “Not if I promise to look after them?” “No, sir.” His father was silent for a moment, regarding him--not all in anger.