"'Bab!' said my aunt bringing her hand down so heavily upon the table that the cups and saucers rang again, 'Bab, that's false. If he told you I was rich, he told you how to get my money by-and-by. He told you to cringe and fawn, and worm yourself into my favour, to profit by my death, to be a liar, a flatterer, and a beggar, and why? Because I am rich. Oh yes, because I am rich.'
"I sat as if stricken into stone, but half comprehending what she meant, and unable to answer a syllable.
"'Rich indeed!' she went on, excited more and more by her own words and stalking to and fro between the window and the table, like one possessed. 'Aha! we shall see, we shall see. Listen to me, child. I shall leave you nothing—not a farthing. Never expect it—never hope for it. If you are good and true, and I like you, I shall be a friend to you while I live; but if you are mean and false, and tell me lies, I shall despise you. Do you hear? I shall despise you, send you home, never speak to you, or look at you again. Either way, you will get nothing by my death. Nothing—nothing!'
"My heart swelled within me—I shook from head to foot. I tried to speak and the words seemed to choke me.
"'I don't want it,' I cried passionately. 'I—I am not mean. I have told no lies—not one.'
"My aunt stopped short, and looked sternly down upon me, as if she would read my very soul.
"'Bab,' said she, 'do you mean to tell me that your father said nothing to you about why I may have asked you here, or what might come of it? Nothing? Not a word?'
"'He said it might be for my good—he told Miss Whymper to make me curtsey and walk better, and come into a room properly; he said he wished me to please you. That was all. He never spoke of money, or of dying, or of telling lies—never.'
"'Well then,' retorted my aunt, sharply, 'he meant it.'
"Flushed and trembling in my childish anger, I sprang from my chair and stood before her, face to face.