"A cab?" the lawyer repeated, in a startled tone. "What for?"
"To take away the money, sir," explained little Million gravely. "That money o' mine from me uncle. What I've called about."
"Ah—to take away——" began the lawyer. Then he suddenly laughed outright. I laughed. But together we caught sight of little Million's face, blushing and hurt, sensitive of ridicule. We stopped laughing at once.
And then the old lawyer, looking and speaking as kindly as possible, began to explain matters to this ingenuous little heiress, as painstakingly as if he were making things clear to a child.
"The capital of one million dollars, or of two hundred thousand pounds of English money, is at present not here; it is where it was—invested in the late Mr. Samuel Million's sausage and ham-curing factory in Chicago, U. S. A."
Here Million's face fell.
"Not here. Somehow, Miss," turning to me, "I thought it never sounded as if it could be true. I thought there'd be some kind of a 'have,' sort of!"
"And, subject to your approval always, I should be inclined to allow that capital to remain where it is," continued the old lawyer in his polished accent. "There remains, of course, the income from the capital. This amounts, at present, to ten thousand pounds a year in English money——"
"What is that," breathed the new heiress, "what is that a quarter, sir? It seems more natural like that."
"Two thousand five hundred pounds, Miss Million."