"Grandpapa," asked Phronsie, looking intently at him, "isn't Charlotte very, very poor?"
"Charlotte poor?" repeated the old gentleman. "Why, no, not exactly; her father isn't rich, but Charlotte, I think, may do very well, especially as I intend to keep her here for a while, and then I shall never let her suffer, Phronsie; never, indeed."
"Grandpapa," said Phronsie, "wasn't Mrs. Chatterton aunt to Charlotte?"
"Yes; that is, to Charlotte's father," corrected Mr. King. "But what of that, child, pray? What have you got into your head, Phronsie?"
"If Mrs. Chatterton was aunt to Charlotte," persisted Phronsie slowly, "it seems as if Charlotte ought to have some of the money. It really does, Grandpapa."
"But Cousin Eunice didn't think so, else she'd have left it to Charlotte," said Mr. King abruptly, "and she did choose to leave it to you. So there's an end of it, Phronsie. I didn't want you to have it, but the thing was fixed, and I couldn't help myself. And neither can we do anything now, but take matters as they are."
"I do think," said Phronsie, without taking her eyes from his face, "that maybe Mrs. Chatterton is sorry now, and wishes that she had left some money to Charlotte. Don't you suppose so, Grandpapa?" and one hand stole up to his neck.
"Maybe," said the old gentleman, with a short laugh, "and I shouldn't wonder if Cousin Eunice was sorry over a few other things too, Phronsie."
"Wouldn't it make her very glad if I gave Charlotte some of the money?" Phronsie's red lips were very close to his ear now, "oh, I do want to so much; you can't think, Grandpapa, how much!"
For answer, Mr. King set her down hastily on the floor, and took two or three turns up and down the room. Phronsie stood a moment quite still where he left her, then she ran up to him and slipped her hand within his.