“I am sure,” said Emberance, “that it would be wrong. Grandpapa did not intend my father to have it all—he never did.”
“No, Emberance, I don’t think he did, and there has always lain my reluctance to your Aunt Mary’s plan. But now listen, both of you. Suppose that Katharine, when she comes of age, were to sell Kingsworth, and divide the money equally,—how would that be?”
Emberance evidently was caught by this idea, though she repeated resolutely, “It is Kate’s, all of it.” While Katharine said,—
“Sell Kingsworth,—ought I? When it was bought back?”
“Well, Katharine, it may be a pity; but it is not especially dear to either of you. It is full of painful memories to your mothers and to me. And, my nieces, having thought much on the vexed question of your rights, I have come to the conclusion that a division is the really equitable plan. You, Katharine, cannot keep it,—you, Emberance, could not take it, without some scruple in your minds. And such an arrangement could be entered into with much less of scandal and publicity than a change between you. Kate would still be a rich woman, and you, Emberance, could fulfil your engagement, if you chose so to bestow yourself, and your portion could make happy the very worthy and disinterested young man, from whom I have just had the pleasure of receiving a letter.”
“From Malcolm, uncle? Did he write to you?”
“Yes; to inform me of his loss of fortune. I saw him, you must know, before he sailed, and I feel a high regard for him.”
“Oh, uncle,—you will say so to mother,—I am so very—very glad,” cried Emberance, clinging to him. “And we can wait. I will not mind it.”
“Well, Katharine,” said the Canon, “does my plan please you?”
“Y-es, yes,” said Kate. “But I should have thought, uncle, that you wouldn’t have considered it respectful to the family.”