He
knew perfectly well that in point of view of determination (that quality
which in himself was firmness, and in those who opposed him obstinacy)
Michael was his match. And the annoying thing was that, as his wife had
once told him, Michael undoubtedly inherited that quality from him. It
was as inalienable as the estates of which he had threatened to deprive
his son, and which, as he knew quite well, were absolutely entailed.
Michael, in this regard, seemed no better than a common but successful
thief. He had annexed his father's firmness, and at his death would
certainly annex all his pictures and trees and acres and the red roofs
of Ashbridge.
Michael saw the gate so imperially slammed, he heard the despairing howl
of Robin, and though he was sorry for Robin, he could not help laughing.
He remembered also a ludicrous sight he had seen at the Zoological
Gardens a few days ago: two seals, sitting bolt upright, quarrelling
with each other, and making the most absurd grimaces and noises. They
neither of them quite dared to attack the other, and so sat with their
faces close together, saying the rudest things. Aunt Barbara would
certainly have seen how inimitably his father and he had, in their
interview just now, resembled the two seals.
Pages:
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252