Then he bit his lip and sat in silence, looking at his clasped hands.
“But it may not be that will, after all,” he said, in a low voice, after a long pause. “A man who will leave one old will behind him may leave twenty. Lawyers always say that any one who changes his will once is sure to do it again and again.”
He drew little consolation from the thought, however, and he was suffering all that his arid nature was capable of feeling, in the anticipation of losing the control of the fortune which had been practically within his grasp. But he had grown used to uncertainty and emotion within the last two months, and his face was set and hard. Nevertheless, he felt that he could not long bear the eyes of the two women upon him in his trouble, unless he made an effort of some sort.
“Did the will say nothing about the trusteeship? Who were to be the trustees?” He asked the question with a revival of interest.
“I don’t know,” answered Katharine. “I never saw the will, of course. He only told me what I have told you.”
Alexander said nothing, but he slowly rose to his feet, with less of energy and directness than he usually showed in his movements.
“We’ll talk about it this evening,” he said, and left the room.
When he was gone Katharine rose and went over and sat upon the sofa at her mother’s feet. Mrs. Lauderdale had said nothing during the brief interview, but had watched her husband’s face anxiously when he spoke, as though she had anticipated some outbreak of temper, at least.
“I’m glad you told him at once, dear,” she said. “I’m very much troubled about him. I was afraid he’d be angry.”
“Isn’t it dreadful that any one should care so much?” Katharine spoke thoughtfully, and looked at the floor.