“I don’t understand you,” said Septimus.
“I was alluding to your being left so unprovided for,” said the doctor. “It seems so sad.”
“But you told me he left no will,” said Septimus wonderingly; “and I am his only child.”
The doctor smiled compassionately upon his nephew, with the air of a man removing a leg or an arm.
“There, for goodness’ sake don’t go on torturing the poor fellow in that way!” cried downright Mrs Hardon. “Why don’t you speak out? You see, Septimus—”
“I beg that you will be silent, Mrs Hardon,” exclaimed the doctor.
“I shall be nothing of the kind,” cried Mrs Hardon. “The poor man has enough to suffer as it is, without being grilled over a slow fire.”
Septimus gazed from uncle to aunt in a strange bewildered way, prepared for some new shock, but unable to comprehend what blow Fate meant to deal him now.
“You see, Septimus,” continued Mrs Hardon, without heeding her husband’s uplifted hands,—“you see the property comes to my husband as next of kin.”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Septimus, as if relieved that his aunt’s communication was of no more weight. “I am the only child, and besides, I have a son.”