"Oh, yes, quite well, thank you."
Her hands were cold. He said, to give her time to recover herself, "And how is the boy?"
Her face lighted up as from a burst of sunshine. "Doing nicely, thank you. Growing every day in strength and accomplishments. Why, he actually travels around chairs faster than we want to travel after him."
"That's right. He'll lead you a merry chase when he finds out his powers."
"Yes, and he is finding them out very rapidly. He is going to be a real boy—so strong and active."
"He is great company for you," Judge Kirtley said, "and will be more as time goes on. I know how these little things creep into one's heart. You know I lost my boy." It was forty years since then, but his eyes grew moist as he thought of the son who might have been his stay, and was but a tender memory.
Her hand closed over his. "It must be very hard to lose a child," she said, softly. "I—I think I could not bear that. They come so close!"
They were talking almost in an undertone. Richard De Jarnette had left the room to speak to his driver at the door. The lawyer, a kind-hearted man with children of his own, was fumbling over the papers in his bag, saying helplessly. "Oh, Lord! Lord!"
When Mr. De Jarnette returned, Margaret released her hand gently and sat upright. Then the reading began.
The will was dated May 3, 1889, two days after their marriage. Margaret remembered Victor's coming home that day and telling her that he had made it and had left everything to her,—remembered too how she had clung passionately to him in the superstitious fear of what a will might bring, and said that she did not want his money, she wanted him. Yes, the date was the same, and as the reading proceeded she saw, through all the tiresome verbiage, that it was just as he had said—all was left to his "beloved wife, Margaret." Richard De Jarnette was named as executor.