Whom the Gods Love by Kate Ross

you is extremely restful, Mr. Talmadge. You not only read my mind—you make it up for me. I could nod off to sleep, and you could conduct this entire interview by yourself."
    "I think you're extremely rude! And you're doing it on purpose!"
    "Of course. One should never be rude except on purpose." 
    Eugene's defences dropped abruptly. He looked at Julian with shy curiosity. "Why?"
    That one syllable told Julian more about Alexander Falkland than all his father's praise, his servants' loyalty, or his own eloquent letters. Alexander had been Eugene's brother-in-law and guardian for a year and a half, had lived under the same roof with him for months—and he had taught him nothing. Eugene's unkempt state, his skittishness, his ignorance of the most elementary rules of how one gentleman addresses another: they were all faults that brotherly guidance could have smoothed away. And no one was better able to give such guidance than Alexander, who had been the epitome of charm and taste. Everyone said Eugene had worshipped his brother-in-law. If that were true, how could Alexander have given so little back?
    These thoughts washed over Julian swiftly, making no change in his face or manner. He answered, "Because one should never appear to do anything without intent. It's the secret of poise."
    "I shouldn't have thought it could ever be right to be rude."
    "It depends on the circumstances. In a man of wealth and power, it's unsporting. He has advantages enough."
    "Well, you have power. Everyone knows you're a famous dandy and tell everybody how to dress and behave."
    "I don't tell anybody how to do anything. Some gentlemen choose to emulate me."
    "Why?"
    "Because I give the impression I don't care a fig whether they do or not."
    "But that doesn't make sense."
    "Not much in society does."
    Eugene's face fell. He looked as if he were being sent down from Mount Sinai without the Commandments.
    Julian could not leave him in this state. "People suppose what I do must be right, because I do it with conviction. A true dandy ought to be able to walk down Pall Mall with an upturned bucket on his head, and have every young blood in London scrambling for one just like it. It's all conviction—sheer effrontery, if you prefer. A kind of philosophical conjuring trick: I believe in myself, therefore I am —"
    He broke off. Every now and then the outrageousness of his achievement startled even him. But he knew the first rule of keeping one's balance at a great height is not to look down. "We're wandering from the subject. I asked you if you knew before Alexander died that you would be remembered in his will."
    Eugene cast about confusedly, as if he were trying to rebuild his defences but found some of the pieces missing. "He hinted something about it," he said at last. "It was over the Christmas holidays. He said he particularly wanted to do something for me, as he hadn't any children of his own."
    "Did you interpret that to mean he intended to leave you money?"
    "I didn't think about it. I just thought he was trying to cheer me up, because I'd had measles and was still a bit low. I wasn't going about wondering if people would leave me money. I've never had any. I didn't expect I ever should."
    "Now it appears you'll soon have four thousand pounds—assuming Alexander didn't leave any children."
    "You mean, Belinda might be—" It appeared the idea had never occurred to him. "Wouldn't she have said something?" 
    "I'm not an expert in these matters, but it's possible she doesn't know yet."
    Eugene started walking—back and forth, like an animal caught in a trap. "I don't want to think about it. If Belinda is—in the family way—it's nothing to me, I don't care. I never believed in the money, anyway. I've never had anything of my own."
    But of course he must care desperately, Julian thought. Four thousand pounds would yield him a substantial income or launch him in a gentleman's profession: the Bar, the army, the Church. To be sure, his sister