“No,” replied Septimus; “I know nothing beyond what I have told you, and I come to my father’s brother for information.”
“Yes, just so,” said the doctor; “but I can not refrain from blaming my poor brother; doubtless you had given him great cause of offence, but he ought to have made some provision for you.”
“I did write to him again and again,” said Septimus, “but I suppose he felt too angry, and—let it rest now; I have struggled through all my trouble without his help, and I do not complain.”
“Just so,” said the doctor; “but it would have been more just if he had made some provision.”
“You have seen his will, I suppose?” said Septimus.
“O no!” said the doctor, “there is no will.”
“Then he has left no legacies?” said Septimus.
“Not one,” replied the doctor; “but I am not surprised—he never was a business man.”
“I am sorry too,” said Septimus softly, “for the sake of my cousins and yourselves;” and Septimus started as he saw the wince Mrs Hardon gave at the mention of the word “cousins.”
“Yes,” said the doctor blandly; “it would have been more just towards you. For even if he had only left you a hundred or two they would have been acceptable, no doubt.”