"We have no money to prove it, child, at present. In the meantime, this is a certainty. Whenever we get our proofs complete we can cease to take this annuity."
"This bribe, you mean. I scorn it. I hate it. I won't touch it."
Josephine's eyes again gleamed with anger.
"I hate bribes," she repeated.
"All right, child. You can go on starving. You can go your own way, I mine. For myself, at least, I have accepted the annuity; and if you anger me any more, I'll burn the documents tonight, which give you the shadow of a claim."
Josephine turned pale. There were moments when, fearless as she was, she feared this queer old man. The present was one of them. She sat quite still for a moment or two, during which she thought deeply. Then she spoke in an altered tone.
"Grandfather, if I consent to make no fuss, to say nothing, to reveal nothing by word or action, will you give me half your annuity?"
"Why so, Nina? Had we not better live together? When all is said and done, I'd miss you, Grandchild, if you left me."
"You'd get over that, Grand-dad. These are not the days when people are especially affectionate. Will you give me two hundred a year, and let me live away from you?"
The old man looked down at the floor, and up at the ceiling; then furtively into his granddaughter's face, then away from her.