"A name to live up to," remarked the girl. "It was interesting, Aunt Mary leaving him her money."
"It would have been more interesting if she'd had anything to leave."
Edgar had thrown himself back on the divan and was watching curtains and smoke draw out the window.
"Do you remember," continued his sister, "what nice cookies Aunt Mary used to give us when we were little? Mother felt sorry not to be here when she died."
"Oh, mother's ripping," declared Edgar, his cheerfulness restored by some inspiriting memory. "She's had a hand-to-hand, knock-down-and-drag-out with the old gargoyle that holds the fort over there at Aunt Mary's."
"What do you mean?" drawled Kathleen with faint disgust.
"Mother gave a graphic account of the fray at dinner one night. I wasn't giving the story my whole attention, but I gathered that she and the doughty Eliza each got hold of one end of Aunt Mary's camel's hair shawl and had a tug of war; and Eliza's cat won the day for her by jumping on mother and nearly clawing her furs off."
"Edgar," protested Kathleen, "your bump of respect is an intaglio!"
"Well, I think I've got it about right. There were diamonds mixed up in it too. I believe Eliza wears a diamond tiara at her work so as to keep it away from mother; while the parent of the worshipful Philip came in for a diamond necklace, and mother was left nothing but cold neglect."
"Absurd!" breathed Kathleen. "Aunt Mary was poor as a church mouse."