Suddenly the tenseness of the moment was broken. Edith had come slowly toward Brennan, her hand outstretched, her face white with horror. “No!—my God! No!” she cried, then tottered and would have fallen had her mother not stepped quickly forward and supported her. “I can’t take it—I can’t take it!” she cried, in spite of her mother’s attempts to quiet her.
“The remainder of the will,” continued Brennan coldly, as he folded up the document and placed it in his pocket, “refers only to my appointment as executor.” He removed his glasses and looked at Donald.
“You mean that he has left everything to my wife?” gasped the latter, faintly.
“Everything.”
“No! No!” cried Edith.
“Be quiet, my child,” Mrs. Pope said soothingly, then turned to the lawyer. “How much did he leave, Mr. Brennan?” she asked.
“I cannot say exactly, madam. It will be impossible to tell until the estate is settled up. Probably not less than half a million.”
EDITH HAD SLOWLY RISEN FROM HER CHAIR, AND HER FACE WAS A PICTURE OF HORRIFIED AMAZEMENT