“I book for a future discussion, ‘What is Truth?’ meanwhile, the previous question is of more immediate interest.”
“Now, it seems to me,” returned the clergyman, “that the cause of the present deadlock is that both parties miss altogether the full import of that previous question. Can you make a proper use, Mrs. Richards, of anything not lawfully yours? Wait a minute, doctor,” with a glance of mirthful menace, as that personage drew a long breath of satisfaction, “I want to ask you whether you can rightfully make over to another who has no better claim to it than yourself, money which he will certainly make a bad use of, begging your forgiveness, Mrs. Richards, but I know whereof I speak.”
“I dare say,” she replied sadly.
“Again we wander,” said the doctor. “The question is not of Frank’s peccadilloes, but of his father’s money.”
“Is it his father’s?”
“Morally? no, by all the gods!”
“And not legally, for it stands in your wife’s name.”
“To whom, then, does it morally belong?” asked Alice.
“Ask your husband!” said Mr. Clare.
“Why, I suppose Mr. Bellamy would say to the nation,” returned the doctor, “but I certainly don’t propose to hand it over to Congress. Besides, I don’t care a hang for the nation, as such. I’m an individualist; and every coin of that accursed hoard is stained with the blood of individuals.”