“Then you are a thoroughly bad woman, and I am thankful that Sir Charles Thornton’s estate is to pass into more worthy hands. Much as I sympathize with and respect your husband, madam, I cannot permit my young client to be insulted in my presence, and I have the honor to wish you a very good-morning.”
Mr. Compton said this very spiritedly, his fine face flushing with indignation, his lips curling with contempt, while he walked to the door of his office and held it open, with such an air of stern determination that Mrs. Richards did not dare to disregard this very emphatic invitation to take her departure, and she walked wrathfully, but utterly crushed by her bitter disappointment, from the room.
CHAPTER XLIII.
“GOD BLESS OUR STAR.”
Yes, beautiful Star Gladstone was the heiress to Halowell Park, and all other property belonging to the late Sir Charles Thornton.
Upon reaching home after her trip to California, which had been one of great enjoyment as well as profit, she resolved to settle down to a cozy, quiet life for the remainder of the winter, and make Uncle Jacob as comfortable as she possibly could.
She was sitting in her own pretty room one morning, something as Mrs. Richards had sat in hers only a few weeks previous when she had discovered herself to be the heir to Halowell Park, but looking happy and smiling, instead of angry and discontented.
She had brought a pile of music up there to sort and arrange, it having been upset by the house-maid while dusting, and as she was looking it over, she came upon an old newspaper that had got mixed in with it.
She took it up as one often does, and ran her eye carelessly over its columns.
It happened to be the very paper which contained the notice of Sir Charles Thornton’s death, and the advertisement for the next of kin.
Star started as her eye caught that name. Then she went over both paragraphs carefully.