One afternoon, old Mr. Desmond, who was well enough now to creep out of doors with a stick, was walking round the garden with his granddaughter.
"I'm going to take a fresh lease of life," he said, with energy. "I feel stronger to-day than I have done for months."
"I am so glad," said Jean sincerely. "I am sure you are much stronger than you were. I wrote to Charlie to-day, and told him so."
"Ay, that lad is a good sort. If I had left you, he promised to look after you, which is more than you deserve. I never alter my mind, and my will remains as it was when I re-made it the day after you defied me, and took yourself away to London. Don't think—" here he turned upon her half irritably—"don't think that your coming back at this belated hour will change my mind towards you. Not one penny of money will you receive from me after my death."
"Oh, I know, I know," said Jean, trying to speak patiently. "I have not been wasting my time, grandfather. I believe I shall be able to earn my own living, and," she added, with some spirit, "I shall not be in need of any help from Charlie!"
Mr. Desmond gave a dry little laugh.
"Wait till the time comes," he said. "If you continue to please him, your future is provided for."
"What do you mean, grandfather? Do you think I would take any money from Charlie?"
"As his wife you will, I should think."
"His wife!"