Paula dropped her palette and looked up in consternation.
"Next Saturday—the day after to-morrow?" she exclaimed. "It's impossible! It will take another fortnight to finish this picture."
Mr. Ricaby shook his head.
"Then the picture must remain unfinished," he said impatiently. "We must sail Saturday." Changing his tone, he went on almost coaxingly: "Surely, Paula, you realize what is at stake! There is no time to be lost. The cable announcing your father's death reached you five days ago. According to his instructions the old will was not to be opened until three weeks after his demise. That will give us just time to reach New York before the old will is offered for probate. Don't you see the danger of delay? A large fortune awaits you. If you don't go to America and claim it, you may lose it all. Can't you be ready?"
The girl's pale face flushed with anger. Hotly she said:
"I can't go until my work is done. You lawyers are all alike—only the material, sordid things of life have any weight with you. I think more of my work than of all the money in the world—you know that. Why must I go to America? To be compelled to meet and be pleasant to relatives who at this moment are unaware of my very existence, and who will have every reason to detest me and consider me an interloper. I hate America. What has America ever done for me? It robbed me all these years of a father who, had he seen more of his only child, might have learned to love me. Its severe climate killed my mother, and, when she went, I was alone—without even a friend."
"Have you forgotten me?" he interrupted quietly.
Quick to remark the note of reproach in his voice, she held out her hand:
"Forgive me," she murmured. "It is most ungrateful of me to talk like that. Yes—you are indeed my friend. I shall never be able to repay all that you have done for me. Forgive me. This sudden terrible news from America has unnerved me. I'm all unstrung. Don't mind what I say. I'll go to New York if you think it necessary, but my work—what of my work?"
"Your work?" he echoed gravely. "Haven't you other work left undone in New York? Work more important than that you are now doing?"