"Hardly. Indeed I consider him a rascal; but he has a good claim on the property, as I have already said, and that is what angers me. A hundred thousand dollars should not fall into the hands of one so mean and selfish as he is."
"Poetic justice is not always shown in this world. Perhaps if you found the true heirs, you would find them also lacking in much that was admirable."
"Possibly; but they would not be apt to be as bad as he is."
"Is he dishonest?"
"I do not like to accuse him, but neither would I like to trust him with another man's money."
"That is unfortunate," said she. "And he will really have this money if you do not find any nearer heirs?"
"Certainly; his name follows theirs in the will."
"It is a pity," she observed, rising and moving towards the harp. "Do you want to hear a song that Emma composed when we were happier than we are now?"
"Indeed I do," was his eager reply. "Sing, I entreat you, sing; it will make me feel as if the gloom was lifting from between us."
But at this word, she came quickly back and sat down in her former place by the fire.