“We can go into the dining-room,” said Lettice, opening a door which led into it as she spoke; “though, really, Mr Auriol, you need not give yourself so much trouble. We are perfectly satisfied that our money is in good hands. Mamma often told me that my father had given himself immense trouble to place it safely, so that at his death there should be no trouble; in short, that our trustees would have nothing to do but leave it as it was.”
Mr Auriol made no reply. But when the four were seated round the dining-table, he deliberately undid his important-looking packet, and drew from it paper after paper, all neatly labelled and arranged, which he placed beside him.
“These,” he said, touching two mysterious-looking documents, “are the statements of your capital and of your income. I have had copies made, so that I can leave these with you, in case you ever wish to refer to them, as you are all three of an age to understand such matters to a certain extent. You said just now, Miss Morison, that everything to do with your money matters had been thoroughly seen to before your father’s death. I must explain to you that all was not as satisfactory as you imagine. Your father, as he constantly said himself, was not a good man of business. I am not afraid of your misunderstanding me when I say this. You cannot but know how deeply attached to him I was, and how much gratitude I shall always feel to him for much past kindness. I simply state the fact, with no disparagement to him. When he died his affairs were exceedingly confused and involved, and I, as one of his executors—the only one—for, you remember, Colonel Brown died suddenly just when your father did—hardly knew what to do. And I tell you honestly that I never could have got things into the satisfactory state they are now in, but for help which I cannot exaggerate, and from a quarter where, all things considered, one could little have expected it.”
Mr Auriol paused and looked round him. All the three young faces expressed strong feeling. On Lettice’s there was a look of tension painful to see. Her lips moved as if she would have asked her cousin to go on, but no sound came. He understood her, however, and pitying her heartily, he continued, his eyes fixed on the paper before him.
“That help came from your father’s stepbrother, the only son of his father by his second marriage—the merchant, Mr Ingram Morison.”
There was a dead silence. The tears were in Nina’s eyes, and Arthur’s face was quivering, but Lettice’s was deadly pale and stony. And when she spoke her voice was so unlike itself that all started.
“Did my mother know this?” she said in a tone which matched the look on her face.
“Not at first,” said Mr Auriol, still avoiding to turn his eyes in her direction; “not till things were all in order would Mr Morison allow her to be told anything. He risked very large sums—of course, not so large to him as to a less wealthy man, but still actually large—to save your fortune. And, thanks to his great acuteness and experience, he succeeded most wonderfully, so that at the present time you do not actually owe him money.”
“Thank Heaven for that,” murmured Lettice.
Mr Auriol turned upon her with a sharp movement of indignation. But when he went on speaking it was as if continuing his words, and not as if addressing himself to her in particular.