“You don’t understand,” she said quietly. “I ought to have made it clear in the first place, but I didn’t know just how—or when—to say it. I can’t—I will not take any of Mr. Farley’s money—not even if the law should give it to me.”
He looked at her with the mute appeal of the deaf when they fail to catch a meaning.
“Really, Miss Farley—”
“I won’t take one cent of Mr. Farley’s money,” Nan repeated firmly.
“I can’t blame you for being disappointed—for resenting what may appear to be a lack of consideration on his part for your comfort—”
“Oh, it isn’t that! I wouldn’t have you think that! I’m sure he meant to do what was right—what was generous! You don’t know how glad I am that our last day together was a happy one—we had never been on better terms. It’s not that I have any unkind feeling toward papa; it’s all myself. The Farleys were only too kind to me. I went my own way and it made me selfish—and pretty hard, too, I’m afraid. Papa knew it; and you know yourself how little he trusted me. And he was right about me: I didn’t deserve his confidence. But I’m going to begin all over again, as I couldn’t if I began fighting for this money. I can see now that money can’t make me happy. I’m going to work; I’m going to stop living, as I always have, just for myself: I’m going—I’m going to think about the rest of the folks a lot!”
“The folks?” repeated Thurston feebly. “What folks?”
“Oh, everybody! The down-and-outers—girls like me who get a bad start or make mistakes!”
Thurston’s brows worked convulsively. He had been prepared for anything but this.
“Do I—do I understand you to mean that, even if this estate could be turned over to you to-morrow, you’d decline to receive it? It can’t be possible—”