He held out his hand: the second cheque lay on the table, and Richard had the former still in his possession. He did not move, nor did sir Wilton urge his demand.
“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?”