Mr. Conybeare produced a very large silk handkerchief, and mopped his forehead. This done, he rose with a countenance composed to extreme solemnity, and advancing to Goulburn extended his plump white hand.
"Then, my dear sir," he said, "allow me to congratulate you on being a very fortunate young man. It is my pleasing duty to inform you that your late uncle, my esteemed client, the late Mr. Nathaniel Goulburn, formerly of Chicago but recently of London, has left you and your sister Maisie his entire fortune—two-thirds to you, sir; one-third to her. The—er—the amount in question is—er—roughly speaking, seven hundred and fifty thousand pounds. Sir, permit me to shake you by the hand."
"And permit me to offer my congratulations also, Goulburn," said Mr. Pepperall, who was quite overcome. "Dear me! dear me! What extraordinary things one does hear of! Um—God bless my soul! I think, Mr. Conybeare, that this joyous occasion might prove a proper excuse for—eh?—a glass of champagne— eh? I have some excellent wine in this cupboard. Ah, yes, a clean glass. Dear me! Dear me! Seven—hundred—and—fifty thousand! My dear Goulburn, I am delighted."
The recipient of these congratulations was just then scarcely in a state to hear them. He was in a dream. Only a few minutes ago he had grumbled to his friend Christopher Aspinall because he was poor; now he was rich—rich—much richer than he had ever dreamed of
