Then he shut his eyes, and, late in the day, passed imperceptibly from sleep into the greater repose.
“He was always kind to Mother and me, in his way, and it meant more coming from him, having always been on the near side, poor Uncle A.,” said Rose, child-like, effortless tears running down her face.
But she wept no more when Felix Menebees, having taken his last leave of his old employer, broke down pitifully, after a night and two days spent upon his feet. Instead, she put a kettle on to the gas-ring and boiled water and made tea and then prosaically said to the doctor and to Felix:
“Let’s have tea. I’m sure it’s much the best thing we can do.”
“Let me....” said Felix incoherently. “I’m terribly sorry, Mrs. Aviolet——”
“Why? I’m sure if any one is entitled to cry, Felix, it’s you, after being on the go a whole night and all you’ve done in the day-time as well. I cry myself, when I’m tired—I roar. I’m sure it does one good sometimes,” said Mrs. Aviolet reflectively.
The funeral was a large one, with few relatives and personal friends present, but many representatives of minor public bodies, and charities. Young Millar had obtained leave for attendance, and afterwards came back to Ovington Street with Rose and Felix.
It was found that Uncle Alfred’s will, a lengthy and elaborately worded document, appointed Artie Millar as his successor in the pawnbroking business, which was left to him outright, together with a capital sum of three thousand pounds. Innumerable small legacies went to as many mission societies, one thousand pounds to Felix Menebees, and Uncle A.’s savings, amounting to nearly five thousand pounds, and invested in gilt-edged securities, was charged with a life-interest for Rose’s benefit, to revert eventually to the business.
“He’s cut Cecil out,” was Rose’s first thought.
Her next, inevitably, was that of the new freedom conferred upon her.