Mrs. Singleton shrugged her shoulders. "Because he was not willing to give up control of his own life, and spend the best years of his youth in idleness, waiting for an old man to die. That is what he said. As if he would not gain by that waiting more than his wretched art would bring him if he toiled at it all his life!"
"His art—what is he?"
"Oh! a painter—or an attempt at one. Are such people always visionary and impracticable? I judge so from what I have read of them, and from my knowledge of him. It is true that his folly serves our interest very well; for if he had agreed to what his uncle proposed, we should have no chance of inheriting anything; but, nevertheless, one has a contempt for a man with so little sense."
"I think you should have the highest regard for him in this instance, since he is serving your interest so well. But why is he coming?"
"To see his uncle before going abroad again. Mr. Singleton has a strong attachment for him, notwithstanding the way he has acted; and I should not be surprised if he made him his heir, after all. So you see there is no reason why I should be overjoyed at his visit, especially since he is not at all an agreeable person, as you will see."
"I may not see," said Marion; "for I do not think I shall be in Scarborough much longer."
"You are going away?" said Mrs. Singleton, with a quick flash of comprehension in her eyes.
"In a few days probably," was the reply. "I promised to spend only a month with Helen, and I have been here now six weeks."
"But I thought you were good for the season," said Mrs. Singleton; while her inward comment was: "So matters are just as I thought!"