“Well—you know—it’s about the will. There may be trouble about it. Your father may wish to break it if he can. It’s not unnatural. But of course, if he does, there’s going to be a most terrific row all round. We shall all be raging furiously together like the heathen in about a week, if he attacks the will. The Thirty Years’ War wouldn’t be in it, with the row there’s going to be.”
“You take a cheerful view, cousin Ham,” said Katharine, with a smile. “Who’s going to fight whom?”
“You and I are going to be on opposite sides,” answered Bright, gravely, and fixing his clear blue eyes on her face.
“Well—what difference does that make?” she asked. “I mean, what personal difference? We shall be just as good friends, shan’t we?”
“Ah—that’s it! Shall we?” He continued to watch her earnestly.
“Why not?” she asked, returning his gaze quietly. “What earthly difference can it make to me? Of course, I hope papa won’t do anything of the kind. We shall all have such heaps of money that I can’t see why we should fight about a little, more or less—”
“No—but if he breaks the will, my mother and Hester and I shall get nothing at all, and of course I shall fight it like anything. You understand that, don’t you? It’s rather a big thing, you know—it’s forty millions or nothing, because we’re not next of kin. You’ll understand why I shall fight it, won’t you?”
He asked the last question very anxiously, and in his broad face there was a curious struggle between the fighting instinct, expressed in the setting of the firm jaw, and the painful fear of being misunderstood, which showed itself in the entreating glance of the eyes.
“I understand perfectly,” answered Katharine. “It’s your duty to fight it—of course.”
“I’m so glad you look at it in that way,” he said. “Because if you didn’t—” He paused in the middle of the sentence.