“Oh, yes—so she is—so she is! Well—that’s a singular thing, too. He said in his last note that it was for me.”
“Did he?” Katharine laughed. “You’d better take it, uncle dear—that is, if you want it. It’s a good picture.”
“Everything the young scoundrel does is good!” growled the old man. “Do you like him, child?”
“Like him! I perfectly loathe him—but I can’t tell why,” she added, in quick apology. “He’s always very kind.”
“I don’t see how Walter Crowdie can be kind to my niece,” said Robert Lauderdale, with rough pride. “Anyhow, he wants to get something out of me. So he’s bringing the picture to me this morning. I told you what I meant to do for them in my will. I don’t see why I should do anything. They’re rich, those people. She had money and he gets big prices, and I’ll do him the credit to say he’s industrious, at all events. He seems to be a good husband to Hester, too—isn’t he?”
“She adores him,” answered Katharine.
“Well—I suppose I’m like you. I can’t tell why I dislike the man, but I do. It’s a case of ‘Doctor Fell.’ Yes—there’s Crowdie, and the Miners—even Ham Bright—he’s always enquiring and leaving cards! As for your father, he writes me long letters once a week, as though I were abroad, and he comes to see me every Sunday afternoon at four o’clock, rain or shine.”
“Oh—that’s where he goes!” cried Katharine. “I often wondered—he always disappears on Sunday afternoon.”
“Yes—he comes here and tells me what a solid thing the Trust Company is, and how he’s devoting his life to it, and sacrificing his chances of getting rich, so as to be useful. Oh, it’s very fine, I admit. But then, he never says anything about that money of his which he keeps put away. And I never say anything about it, either. What’s the use—it would only make him uncomfortable.”
“But you’re quite sure he has it, uncle Robert, aren’t you?” asked Katharine. “You’re not doing him an injustice?”