“Yes; that is, I knew Mr. Stannard had left me a bequest, but I did not know how much. Nor did I care!” Natalie lost her self-control. “Do you suppose I wanted that money? I did not, and I do not! I refuse to take it!”
“My dear child,” said Beatrice Faulkner, rising and going to sit beside her, “don’t say such things. The money is honestly yours——”
“Not so fast, Mrs. Faulkner,” said Roberts, amazed at Natalie’s excited words; “we cannot feel sure the money honestly belongs to Miss Vernon until we know who altered Mr. Stannard’s will. Did you?”
He turned quickly to Natalie with his question, as if anxious to get the miserable business over.
“Certainly not,” she replied, with disdain in every line of her face. “In the first place, Mr. Bobsy—I mean, Mr. Roberts——”
The light laugh that greeted her slip of the tongue served to break the tension of the moment. “Forgive me,” she said, and her dimpling smile of embarrassment would have turned the head of an anchorite. “You see, I’ve heard you called that, and, though I didn’t mean to be familiar, I—I got sort of mixed up.”
“All right, Miss Vernon, it doesn’t matter at all. One Robert’s as good as the other.”
“It’s funny to have two names alike, isn’t it?” and Natalie’s voice shook a little.
“Yes,” and then with an effort, Bobsy returned to the attack. “You know nothing of the change in the will, then, Miss Vernon?”
“I certainly don’t. Did somebody change the text?”