Editha was in a fever of anxiety and impatience on account of it, and for two whole days had watched for his coming from her window almost incessantly.
When at last she saw him ascending the steps, she sped to the door and answered his ring, whereupon she led him directly to the library, where her father was sitting.
“Papa,” she said, speaking as indifferently as she could, after the two men had exchanged greetings, “Mr. Felton has called to-day to settle that business of Uncle Richard’s bequest to Mr. Wayne.”
Mr. Dalton started and flushed angrily, frowning darkly upon her; then by an effort curbing his anger, he turned to the lawyer with a light laugh.
“Has this young lady been importuning you also upon her sentimental whims?” he asked.
“Miss Editha called several days ago and told me of her uncle’s request, and asked me to prepare the necessary documents,” Mr. Felton replied, quietly, and with a sympathetic glance at Editha’s hot cheeks.
“Well, what do you think of it? Did you ever hear of such a piece of foolishness as she contemplates?”
“It is a question with me whether it is a piece of foolishness to desire to fulfill the request of a dying man,” returned the lawyer, gravely.
Editha gave him a grateful look.
“Pshaw! Richard Forrester did not know what he was about. He was a feeble paralytic, and not accountable for what he said at that time,” said Mr. Dalton, impatiently.