He judged rightly. My father was nervously anxious to arrange for
giving her 500 pounds a year, in the manner most likely to prevent
her from making away with it, and leaving herself destitute. But
there had already been heavy pulls on his funded property, and ways
and means had to be considered, making Clarence realise that he had
become the heir. Somehow, there still remained, especially with my
mother and himself, a sense of his being a failure, and an inferior
substitute, although my father had long come to lean upon him, as
never had been the case with our poor Griff.
The first idea of raising the amount required was by selling an
outlying bit of the estate near the Wattlesea Station, for which an
enterprising builder was making offers, either to purchase or take
on a building lease. My father had received several letters on the
subject, and only hesitated from a feeling against breaking up the
estate, especially if this were part of the original Chantry House
property, and not a more recent acquisition of the Winslows.
Moreover, he would do nothing without Clarence's participation.
The title-deeds were not in the house, for my father had had too
much of the law to meddle more than he could help with his own
affairs, and had left them in the hands of the family solicitor at
Bristol, where Clarence was to go and look over them.
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