"He didn't always tell you the truth though, did he? In any event it is probable that he left enough to provide for your maintenance."
Cassy threw up her hands. "Never in the world."
Dunwoodie again ran his eyes over the severity of her costume. "You think it would be inadequate?"
But Cassy was angry. "I don't think anything about it. Whether it would or would not be adequate, does not make the slightest difference. I won't take it."
"Ha! And why not?"
Cassy fumed. "Why not? But isn't it evident? That man had no intention of marrying me, no intention whatever of leaving me a cent."
"As it happens, he did both."
Cassy clenched her small fist. "No matter. He did not intend to and don't you see if I were to accept a ha'penny of his wretched money, I would be benefiting by a crime for which may God forgive my poor, dear father."
There was a point which the legislature had not considered, which not one of all the New York Reports construed, a point not of law but of conscience, a point for a tribunal other than that which sits in banco. It floored Dunwoodie.
Damnation, she's splendid, he decided as, mentally, he picked himself up. But it would never do to say so and he turned on her his famous look.