“Is there bad news?”
“I see little change since noon, except that she is more quiet, which is certainly favorable; but she is so very ill that I thought it best to consult you about several matters. Do you know whether she has made a will?”
“No, sir. How should I know it, even if she had?”
“Who is her agent?”
Robert hesitated, and pretended to be busy filling and lighting his pipe.
“Maclean, I have no desire to pry into Mrs. Gerome’s affairs, but it is necessary that those who direct or control her estate should be appraised of her condition. It is supposed that her fortune is ample, and her heirs should be informed of her illness.”
“She has no heirs, except—”
He paused, and after a few seconds exclaimed,—
“Don’t ask me! All I know is that I heard her say she intended to leave her fortune to poor painters.”
“To whom shall I write, or rather telegraph? Where did she live before she came to ‘Solitude’? Who were her friends?”