"Not if the man's son should chance to be living."
Singleton opened his eyes. "But the son is dead," he replied.
"Is he?" said Rathborne, dryly. "Who knows it?—who can prove it? But, of course, I spoke only of a probability."
He moved away then, while his companion looked after him with rather a blank and puzzled expression. "Now, what on earth can be known about it?" he thought. "And what does he mean? Of course there never has been any proof of George's death, that I know of; and if he should be living—Miss Lynde might look out for storms then. But nothing could be more improbable. My uncle evidently did not think it a matter to be even considered. He must have had some certainty about it."
Nevertheless, he mentioned to his wife what Rathborne had said, and she with malicious intent repeated it to Marion. "It is the first suggestion that has been made about George," she observed. "But if he should chance to be living, I am afraid you would lose everything."
"How could that be," said the young girl, "when he is not mentioned in the will?"
"Because, of course, he would contest it on the ground that his father believed him dead when he made it, and also that a man has no right to disinherit his son in favor of a stranger. I hope it may never come to such a contest, for many disagreeable things would be said about you."
"It would certainly never come to it, as far as I am concerned," replied Marion, haughtily. "For if Mr. George Singleton appeared, I should yield his inheritance to him without any contest at all."
"Would you indeed?" asked Mrs. Singleton. She looked at her for a moment with her head on one side, as if contemplating the possibility of what it might mean for herself. "I don't think there is the least danger that he will appear," she said presently; "and I had really rather you had it than he. I always detested George."
"Thanks for the implied compliment," said Marion, smiling faintly.