“Ways and means will be forthcoming, my dear, though for my part I think it would be much better taste in Mrs. Brownlow to put you in possession at once.”
“Mr. Wakefield explained, my dear,” said her husband, “that, much as Mrs. Brownlow wishes to do so, she cannot; she has no power. It is her trustees.”
“Oh yes, I know every excuse will be found for retaining the property as long as possible,” said the lady.
“Then I shall have to wait ever so long,” said the young lady. “And I do so want the Arab. It is a real love, and Allen would say so.”
“I have another letter for you,” said Mr. Wakefield, on hearing that name. “We will leave it with you. If you wish for further information, I would call immediately on receiving a line at my office.”
Just then a message was brought from Mrs. Evelyn inviting Miss Menella’s friends to stay to luncheon. It incited Elvira, who knew neither awe nor manners, to run across the great drawing-room, leaving the doors open behind her, to the little morning-room, where sat Mrs. Evelyn, with Sydney, in her habit standing by the mantelpiece.
“Oh, Mrs. Evelyn,” Elvira began, “it is Mr. Wakefield and my uncle and his wife. They have come to say it is all mine; Uncle Barnes left it all to me.”
“So I hear from Mrs. Brownlow,” said Mrs. Evelyn gravely.
“Oh, Elfie, I am so sorry for you. Don’t you hate it?” cried Sydney.
“Oh, but it is such fun! I can do everything I please,” said the heiress.