“It is something—some papers, I think, that belonged to Earle,” Editha answered, and he noticed the flush that sprang to her cheek as she pronounced his name.
“Let me see it,” he said, holding out his hand for it.
“You can examine the outside, papa, if you like; but the package is not to be opened,” she said, as she reluctantly handed it to him.
“Indeed! and by whose authority do you speak so emphatically?” Mr. Dalton demanded, with a sneer, as he curiously examined the bold, clear writing upon the wrapper, and wondered what secrets it contained.
“By Uncle Richard’s, papa,” Editha replied, firmly, the flush growing deeper on her cheek at his sneer.
He spoke oftener now to her in that way than he had ever done before, and not a day passed that he did not wound her deeply, and make her feel as if her only remaining friend was becoming alienated from her.
Mr. Dalton, on his part, was very much chagrined that she should presume to act so independently.
It was a great disappointment to him that he could not control her large income, which he had intended should contribute as much to his own enjoyment as to hers.
Money was his god; not to hoard and keep, but for the pleasure he could get from it; and he knew how to live for that end as well as any one in the world.
But Editha, after acquainting herself thoroughly with the details of her position as her uncle’s heiress, had again committed everything into the hands of Mr. Forrester’s lawyer, Mr. Felton saying he was to manage for her just as he had done for him, and it was better he should do so, since he understood everything, than to make any change.