“Thank you,” said Fitz, looking critically at the envelope. “But--”
“You must take it,” she interrupted; “it is the only money I ever saved.” She broke off with a malicious laugh. “All these fools thought I was rich,” she went on. “They have been scheming and plotting to get my money. There is no money. That is all there is. You and Luke were the only two who never thought about it. You are both like your father. Here, shut the desk up again. Put it back on the table. Now hide the keys--left-hand corner, under the box of hairpins.”
Fitz obeyed her and came back towards the bed. His large mind felt a sudden contempt for this petty and mean woman. He did not understand her, and the contempt he felt for her in some way hurt him. He was afraid of what she was going to say next.
“But,” she said, “if I get better you must give me the money back.”
Fitz gave a little laugh. Something prompted him to open the envelope and look at the contents. There were five notes of ten pounds each. The rich Mrs. Harrington of Grosvenor Gardens had saved fifty pounds, and she lay on her death-bed watching Fitz count this vast hoard with a quiet deliberation. In its way it was a tragedy--the grimmest of all--for its dominant note was the contemptibility of human nature.
“I do not want the money. I should not keep it under any circumstances.”
“What would you do with it?” she asked sharply.
“Give it to a charity.”
“No, no, you must not do that; they are all swindles!”
In her eagerness she tried to sit up, and fell back with a puzzled look on her face, as if some one had struck her.