“Oh, I don’t mind that. I want to do something over this money. Miss Lawrence is well provided for, but Miss D’Enghien—”
“Well, you had better marry her.”
“Do—do you mean that?”
“No,” said the old man, sternly; “I do not.”
“There is Mr Artis, too. I should like—”
“To find him in funds to carry on a legal war against you for what he would call his rights. My dear Mr Capel, may I, as lawyer, give you a bit of advice?”
“Certainly; I ask it of you.”
“Then wait.”
Capel drew back as the old gentleman proceeded to fold the will and lay it with other papers in the tin box, while Ramo, standing alone in the gloom, with folded arms and apparently seeing nothing, but observing every motion, hearing almost every word, noticed that Gerard Artis was watching the deposition of the will, his hungry looks seeming to devour it as he felt that he would like to destroy it on the spot.
Ramo noted, too, that Paul Capel took a step or two towards where Katrine was talking eagerly to Artis. Then he hesitated and turned off to where Lydia sat alone.