Rebecca Gray stared, frowning, at the lawyer. "He knew—this Urquhart—that she had a child?" she said, slowly.
Mr. Carter was gathering up his papers. "Yes," he said—"yes; he—knew it."
"What?" said Rebecca, in a very low voice—"what?"
"In view of the fact that, legally, the matter is still undecided," Mr. Carter said, hurriedly, "perhaps we need not take this point up? At all events, not here."
"Sir," said Rebecca, "why does Mr. Urquhart leave £5000 to Robert Gray's daughter?"
"He was sorry he was unkind to my mother," Alice said, her voice quivering. ("Oh, Lute, $25,000!")
"Alice," her step-mother said, in a loud, harsh voice, "you had better leave the room. Luther, go with Alice, please."
The two young people, bewildered, got up with blank faces, and with obvious reluctance obeyed. "But why should I be sent out, Lute?" Alice said, hotly, when they were in the hall. "It's my money—if I'm the person."
Luther stopped, and stood, frowning. On the boy's open, honest face came a perplexed look. But Alice said again, in injured tones, that she didn't know what Mrs. Gray meant. In the parlor the three elders looked at each other in silence. Mrs. Gray had risen, and stood leaning forward, her trembling hands flat on the table.
"I don't—understand," she said.