"He is a bad man," repeated Dorinda, obstinately. "As my father said, long ago, all he wants is to get money out of you."
"As your father does," said Rupert dryly.
Dorinda looked down at her white shoes and placed them both together before she answered. "I have told you my opinion of my father," she said with a sigh, "so what is the use of going over old ground. But time is passing, Rupert, and there is much to say. I wish to go home soon, lest my father should find out that I have come here. I left him busy in his study with his jewels, so we are safe for half an hour, at least. Come now, what took place in the Vicarage library?"
"What did your father tell you?"
"He said that Mrs. Beatson told him about the will found by Mr. Leigh, and how Mr. Leigh had mislaid it. The will, he declared, left the Hendle property to him entirely."
"I have not yet seen the will," answered Rupert, cautiously, "and, beyond Leigh's word, I don't even know that it exists. But he maintained that it did, as he came across it in the Muniment Room, and took it to the Vicarage to look into. Then he lost it, or mislaid it somehow. As I have access to his papers, as executor, I am trying to find it."
"Does it leave the property to my father?"
"Not directly, I understand," admitted Rupert, quietly, "but Leigh explained that John Hendle, from whom we are both descended, dear, hated his younger son Frederick, who inherited, and loved his son Walter, who was killed at the Battle of Waterloo. In the year when that battle was fought, he made this will, leaving the Hendle property to Walter's daughter, and cutting off Frederick, who represented the younger branch."
"Eunice Hendle was the daughter, my father said."
"Yes. She afterward became Eunice Filbert, as she married a man of that name," explained Rupert laboriously. "Her daughter, Anne Filbert, married Frank Mallien, your father's parent, so, if the will proves to be legal, your father will certainly get the property through his descent on the distaff side."