"No; of course not. But it's a mighty unpleasant matter."
"Uncle says it can be arranged so that her name needn't come into it."
"Of course," he agreed.
Elizabeth did not speak, but the look in her eyes was a demand.
"It's going to be rather tough for us, to wait until she hands it over to me," Blair said.
"To you?"
The moment had come! He came and knelt beside her, and kissed her; she did not repulse him. She continued to look at him steadily. Then very gently, she said, "And when Nannie gives it to you, what will you do with it?"
Blair drew in his breath as if bracing himself for a struggle. Then he got on his feet, pulled up one of the big, plush-covered arm-chairs, took out his cigarette-case, and struck a match. His hand shook. "Do with it? Why, invest it. I am going into business, Elizabeth. I decided to this morning. If you would care to know why I have given up the idea of contesting the will, I'll tell you. I don't want to bore you," he ended, wistfully. Apparently she did not hear him.
"Did Nannie tell you that that money was meant for a hospital?"
Blair sat up straight, and the match, burning slowly, scorched his fingers. He threw it down with an exclamation; his face was red with his effort to speak quietly. "She told me of your uncle's misunderstanding of the situation. There is no possible doubt that my mother meant the money for me. If I thought otherwise—"