"Oh, Una, how heartless you are--so odd, and the poor Squire just dead."
"My dear auntie," said Una gravely, "I am the last person in the world to speak ill of the dead, but I cannot feign a regret which I do not feel; the Squire asked us down here for his own gratification--not ours; we have lived on our own money, and not his; he has taken no notice of us at all--so neither you nor I can pretend to weep over the death of a man whom we hardly ever saw, and who certainly did nothing to deserve tears."
"But still, he may have left you his fortune," urged Miss Cassy in a tearful voice.
"I doubt it," replied Una with a sigh, "but fortune or no fortune, I cannot pretend to a grief I do not feel."
"And you are quite determined to marry Reginald Blake?"
"Quite--we love each other devotedly."
"I'm sure I hope so," said poor Miss Cassy whimpering, "it's just like a romance of what's-his-name--so very odd; he is good-looking, I know--but money--he's got no money."
"I don't want money--I want him."
"He's got no name."
"He'll make one with his voice."