"Your poor mother is dead, Mark."
"Well, there was no need to wake me for that," said the boy, irritably. "I can't help it, can I?"
"I think, my son, you might speak with more feeling. Death is a solemn thing."
"There's nobody here but me," said Mark, sneering.
"I don't catch your meaning," said his father, showing some annoyance, for it is not pleasant to be seen through.
"Why should you care so much?" continued Mark. "I suppose you will be well provided for. Do you know how she has left the property? How much of it goes to Frank?"
"I can't say," said Mr. Manning. "I never asked my wife."
"Do you mean to say, father, that you don't know how the property is left?" asked Mark, with a sharp glance at his father.
"I may have my conjectures," said Mr. Manning, softly. "I don't think my dear wife would leave me without some evidences of her affection. Probably the bulk of the estate goes to your brother, and something to me. Doubtless we shall continue to live here, as I shall naturally be your brother's guardian."
"Don't call him my brother," said Mark.