The will set forth that there was twenty thousand pounds to be divided between the younger children; but that little Milly being provided for in chief by her mother’s fortune, only three thousand was to be given to her, the rest being divided between the son Charles and the daughter Marjory of the testator. Mr. Smeaton paused to explain that this sum would not be fully realized, as some part of the property from which it was to be drawn had much deteriorated in value; and went into further detailed descriptions of the property, and the cause of its deterioration, which tried Verna’s patience to the utmost, and made Mr. Charles cross and uncross his long legs in nervous impatience.
Even wills, however, come to an end some time. When this was ended there was a pause. There were no unexpected stipulations, no wrong done to any one; all was perfectly just, kind, and fatherly. But this was not all. Except Matilda, who knew nothing, everyone in the room stirred with uneasy expectation when the reading came to an end. Matilda, for her part, obeyed her sister’s directions closely; but that did not prevent her from making an anxious calculation in her mind how much was left of twenty thousand pounds when you subtracted three, and how much was the half of seventeen thousand. This was a mental operation which took her a long time and much thought, and she had not arrived at the other and more difficult and, in short, utterly insoluble question as to what income eight thousand five hundred pounds would produce, when Mr. Charles spoke.
“Is there no later will?” he said; “nothing made since the late sad changes in the family? no codicil? He might have made some memorandum, perhaps, of what he wanted to be done in the present melancholy case.”
“Nothing at all,” said Mr. Smeaton; “it was not a case to be foreseen. Such a thing, I daresay, never entered into his head. Since both are gone, this poor little fellow must, of course, be named heir of entail, and guardians appointed—unless his father has appointed guardians.”
“Not likely, not likely,” said Mr. Charles; and both of the gentlemen looked at Matilda, who, thinking that she had done something wrong, hid her face in her handkerchief. This produced, as Verna expected, the most excellent effect.
“Poor young creature!” they said to each other. “It is too much for her, and no wonder.”
“Miss Bassett,” Mr. Charles added, gently, “perhaps you could rouse your sister a little to the necessities of her position. You know that in consequence of the death of my two nephews, Tom and Charlie, all the bulk of the property goes to that poor infant at your feet. Poor little man! You understand me? I daresay you have not thought on the subject, either of you. Poor little Tommy is the actual proprietor of Pitcomlie. It will be a great responsibility for his mother. Do you think you can make her understand?”
Matilda’s handkerchief, which she held to her face, was violently jerked by the start she gave. There are some minds which are quick to self-interest, though dull to most things else. Mrs. Charles was of slow intelligence, but she heard and understood this. For a moment she made an effort to obey her sister; but then nature got the better of her. She flung the handkerchief on the floor, and appeared from under it, flushed and tearless.
“What!” she cried, with a suppressed but sharp scream.
The reality of her voice amid this subdued and conventional quiet, roused them all up like a flash of lightning; and Verna herself, for the moment, was too much overcome to interfere.