He nearly laughed to see how eager she was for him to have exactly his due; then he grew suddenly grave, and said, gently but firmly:
“No, Editha, I do not wish, I cannot take one dollar of this money.”
“But it was Uncle Richard’s dying wish and bequest to you—it belongs to you by right,” she pleaded, bitterly disappointed by his refusal to take it.
“No, by your uncle’s will, which he did not any way change, it all belongs to you.”
“But he would have changed the will if he could have held a pen; he said so; and the money is not mine,” she cried, almost in tears.
“The law would judge differently—your father is right. It should not come to me”—this was said with a touch of bitterness, however—“and I will not have one dollar of it.”
“Supposing that you were in my place just now, and I in yours, would you claim that it all belonged to you?” she asked, lifting her searching glance to his face.
“No,” he said; “but the difference in our positions, because I am not in your place and you in mine, alters the case altogether.”
“I cannot agree with you; and you would have considered me mean and dishonorable if I had taken advantage of the will and claimed the whole, would you not?”
“But you did not; you have done your duty, and consequently have nothing to regret,” Earle replied, evasively.