“Not an old woman,” replied Mr. Faxon, for he was something of a diplomat and would not make so damaging an admission to any woman, much less to one of Mrs. Maynard’s disposition, as that such a thing were possible as for a lady to grow old. “Not an old women surely, Mrs. Maynard, but simply twenty years older, but you see it is then to go to Lucy and her children if she should have any. You, of course, will have your allowance.”
She made a quick dart, with her hand, toward the will which lay on the table between them. Mr. Faxon, however, saw her intention and coolly placed his hand over the papers, then, gathering them slowly up asked: “Did you wish to see that clause, Mrs. Maynard?”
“No, I remember now you did read such a condition, but it is unjust to rob me of what should rightfully be mine, just for a whim, and then, after waiting all those years, to see it slip through my fingers.”
She could no longer control her rage, but broke forth in a torrent of angry words, in the midst of which Mr. Faxon reached for his hat and bowed himself out.
CHAPTER XII.
“I declare, Lucy, I never heard of a woman as unreasonable as you are,” said Harry Howard to his wife one evening just after dinner, “you expect me to be at your beck and call every minute of the time.”
“No, Harry, I don’t, but I would like you to stay at home once in a while in the evening; I get so lonesome,” was the response.
“Lonesome? Why don’t you go out then?”
“Why Harry! How can I go out by myself? You know very well I can’t do that.”
“Can’t you? There are plenty of women who do. I don’t see what there is to prevent you from going if you like. All you have to do is to order the carriage and go.”