"You do not surely expect—" began Madigan, pausing over his strawberries.
"To live 'out West'? Will you let me tell you how it happened, Mr. Madigan? There isn't much to it—just this: Miles Madigan, as you know—do you know?—was not the man to leave much behind him. Not that he'd deliberately wrong a fellow, poor old chap, but—well—oh, you understand! Well, when his solicitors got through subtracting and dividing and subdividing, the heir—one Miles Morgan, bred to do nothing, and with a talent for that profession, I must admit—found himself poor, with just enough to live on. The ten thousand a year had—just slipped through Miles Madigan's fingers."
"Oh!" Miss Madigan's voice was sympathizing, disappointed.
"Then"—it was Frank's clear treble; she hadn't understood much, but she knew what "poor" meant: a Madigan learned that early—"then you're not going to mawwy Kate?"
Kate went white, while Miss Madigan's delicate face flushed purple, and Split pinched Sissy's arm, in her excitement, till that young woman cried aloud.
"Frances—outside!" stormed Madigan.
"Oh, Mr. Madigan—please!" deprecated the savior, holding out his arms to the whimpering Frances, who jumped into them as to a refuge. "No, little girl," he said, bending down to reassure her, "I'm going to marry Sissy; that's why I came out here."
A gasp of relief parted Kate's trembling lips. She was very near being fond of the detested savior in that moment, in her gratitude to him for not having looked at her.
But oh, the disdain of Sissy! It was such a very poor joke, in her opinion. Her round little face with its dots for features looked so sour and supercilious, as she passed the savior with averted eyes on her way out of the dining-room,—the children were withdrawing now,—that he could not resist putting out a hand to stop her.
"You will have me, Sissy?" he begged with a laugh. "Think of a man coming clear out here with so little encouragement as I had. Such devotion might appeal to a heart of stone!"