"Don't be a fool," the older woman said, trembling. "He's been your father ever since you were born. And it would be a pretty return for his love to tell him—"
Alice burst out crying; her step-mother softened.
"I am sorry for you, you poor girl. But, oh, Alice, think, think of your father!" She clasped her hands and stood, trembling; she took a step forward, almost as if she would kneel.
"If he would feel so dreadfully," Alice said, at last, "why—we needn't tell him where the money comes from."
"Now, Alice, that is absurd. Of course he would know. He would have to know. A girl doesn't inherit £5000 without her father's knowing where it comes from. And, anyway, Mr. Carter said that Mr. Gray would have to make a statement and swear to it. Of course he would—know."
"Do you mean you don't want me to have it at all?" Alice said, blankly.
"I've just explained it to you," Rebecca said, her voice harsh with anxiety. "You can't have it."
"But it's my money; I have a right to it. And it would make all the difference in the world to Lute. If he is going to take a girl—like me, he ought to have the money, anyhow."
"And kill your father?" Rebecca said. "Alice! Don't you see, he must go on believing that she is"—her voice grew suddenly tender—"that she is 'a creature of light?'"
"I want Lute to have the money," Alice said.