“My dear child, let me be the first to congratulate you on your recovery of your rights,” said Mrs. Gould, again proffering an embrace, but again the whip was interposed, while Elvira, with her eyes fixed on Mr. Wakefield, asked “What?” so that he had to repeat the explanation.
“Then does it all belong to me?” she asked.
“Eventually it will, Miss Menella. You are sole heiress to your great uncle, though you cannot enter into possession till certain needful forms of law are gone through. Mrs. Brownlow offers no obstruction, but they cannot be rapid.”
“All mine!” repeated Elvira, with childish exultation. “What fun! I must go and tell Sydney Evelyn.”
“A few minutes more, Miss Menella,” said Mr. Wakefield. “You ought to hear the terms of the will.”
And he read it to her.
“I thought you told me it was to be mine. This is all you and uncle George.”
“As your trustees.”
“Oh, to manage as the Colonel does. You will give me all the money I ask you for. I want some pearls, and I must have that duck of a little Arab. Uncle George, how soon can I have it?”
“We must go through the Probate Court,” he began, but his wife interrupted—