She turned a beautiful, smiling face toward him. “It seems to me,” she said, “that a man who possesses or who has refused a fortune of a million or two can hardly fear that his disinterestedness could be questioned. But I”—her voice sank a little—“I do not think I should have needed the test.”
Mrs. Meredith, sitting quietly below in the loggia of Sansovino, grew rather tired of waiting before the two from above came down to seek her. She rose, and looked at them with a smile.
“Well,” she said, innocently, “have you settled the matter? Is the fortune to be given up, or retained?”
“The fortune!” said Kyrle. “I had forgotten it; but, of course, it is to be given up.”
“Ah!” said Mrs. Meredith. She looked at him curiously, this man who was capable of such wild quixotism, and said to herself that certainly things were better as they were. There was no danger that Mr. Meredith would ever be troubled by any scruples which would cause him to resign his fortune. Then she shrugged her shoulders gently. “I suppose it is quite useless to argue with you,” she said, “but, at least, the fortune has done you a good turn, and I advise you to say nothing to any one else of your intention of resigning it. Do the thing, if you like, when you return to America, but don’t talk of it now. It is yours until you choose to give it away, so pray take the great advantage it will give you.”
She did not say in what way, but Kyrle knew to what she alluded; he knew that this wealth would render it difficult for the Joscelyns to object to him. He looked doubtfully at Aimée.
“That,” he said, “would seem like sailing under false colors; or, at least, like winning what I most desire by a false representation.”
“Now, Heaven grant me patience!” said Mrs. Meredith, impatiently. “But is not the fortune yours?”
“For the present, yes,” he answered.