"Possibly not, monsieur."
"This old aunt," pursued McLean, "was a person of prejudice as well as fortune—hence it has taken a little time for her to adjust herself." He paused and looked understandingly at the Turk, who nodded amiably as one whose comprehension met him more than half way.
"My own aunt was of a similar obstinacy," he murmured. He added, "This fortune you speak of—it comes through my wife?"
"For her inheritors. Madame Delcassé—the former Madame Delcassé I should say—left but one daughter?"
Again the pasha bowed and again Ryder felt the throb of triumph. He looked upon his friend with admiration. How marvelously McLean had worked the miracle. No accusations, no threats, no obstacles, no blank walls of denial! Not a ruffle of discord in the establishment of these salient facts—the marriage of Madame Delcassé to the pasha and the existence of the daughter.
Wonderful man—McLean. He had never half appreciated him.
But the pasha was not wholly the simple assenter.
"Do I understand," he inquired, "that there is a fortune coming from France for my daughter?" And at McLean's confirmation, "And when you say fortune," he continued, "you intend to say—?" and his glance now took in the silent American, considering that some cue must be his.
But McLean responded. "The figures are not to be divulged—not until the aunt is in communication with her niece. But they will be large, monsieur, for this aunt is a person of great wealth."
"And yet alive to enjoy it," said Tewfick with smiling eyes.