“Nor, I think, on any principle. Let us be plain with each other. You think that but for George’s reticence the property would have gone to James. There is no doubt that had my brother been aware that his sons would only leave a girl apiece, he would have left the bulk of it to Walter Kingsworth, his cousin. I think that had he known all the circumstances of James’ marriage, he would not have wholly disinherited him; but I think that enough had passed to prevent him from making an eldest son of him. Indeed the place would have been ruined if he had. James deserved his punishment. Moreover, Mary, no living man will ever know what lies between their memories.”
“James’ deserts do not affect the question. Better give up all than retain part, even unfairly. My husband deceived his father, his daughter shall not enjoy the reward of that deception.”
“But the scandal, the publicity—”
“I do not care for the scandal. The real shame lies in the fact, not in the knowledge of it. Let every one know the part my husband played; sin must bring shame. They will know too that his daughter has no part in the matter.”
“And how could James’ memory come out?”
“I do not care to clear James’ memory, but my own hands and Katharine’s. I do not care what becomes of Kingsworth. Let it go to ruin,—what is that to me?”
“It certainly ought to be something to Katharine,—a Kingsworth herself,” said the Canon, somewhat affronted.
“So,” pursued Mrs Kingsworth, unheeding, “I thought she should have a ready-made life independent of Kingsworth, that her affections should not cling to it. When her hands are free, then I should wish her to have the chance of marrying like other girls, though I hope she will remain single.”
“You would be very much blamed, Mary, if you did not give the child an opportunity of judging for herself.”
“Well,—possibly. You think I ought to take her to Kingsworth now?”