I had up to this stood by a scared and silent spectator; but now I tried to make my voice heard—
“I won’t have it, Uncle Dominick,” I said, half choked with my own eagerness. “It is no use leaving it to me; I won’t have your money.”
Uncle Dominick took no notice of me at all. He had sat down on the chair nearest him, his passion having seemingly exhausted his strength, and his hand on the table beside him shook and twisted as if he had lost all control over its muscles.
Willy spoke to me for the first time.
“See here, Theo,” he said gently, also ignoring my protest, “you’d better go on upstairs out of this; you can’t do any good here.” He glanced at his father. “Do go now, like a good girl; he and I have got things to settle before I go.”
He put his hand on my shoulder, and half pushed me to the door.
“Promise you won’t let him do that,” I said, trying to hold the door as he opened it. “Tell him I won’t have it.”
He did not answer; but, disengaging my fingers from their grasp of the door, he held them in his for an instant.
“I’ll see you again,” he said; and then shut the door and left me standing outside.
I waited for a long time in the drawing-room, but Willy did not come. Ten and eleven struck; the fire died out, and the candles on the chimney-piece burned down till the paper which fitted them into their sockets took fire and began to flare smokily. I went out into the hall and listened, but could hear no sound of voices. Some one was moving about upstairs. Perhaps Willy had gone up by the back stairs from the dining-room. Perhaps he had changed his mind and did not want to see me after all, I thought, making my way up to my room in unutterable weariness and despondency.