"No, it was only for my mother. When she died six years ago it ceased."
Sandy Wilson began to pace up and down the little parlor.
"Nothing left to Daisy. Daisy's name not mentioned in the will. Brothers sorry—pretend to be. Give my Daisy a pittance for her life—nothing to the child. Charlotte," he suddenly stopped in front of his niece, "don't you think you are a good bit of a fool?"
"Perhaps I am, Uncle Sandy. But I never recognized the fact before."
"You believe that story about the will?"
"I tell you the tale as my own mother told it to me."
"Ay, Daisy was always too credulous, a foolish little thing, if you like. But you—you are of different metal. You believe that story?"
"I—I—Don't ask me, Uncle Sandy."
"You do not believe it?"
"If you will have it so, I do not believe it."