"Sinclair Spencer made you residuary legatee."
"What!" Kathleen sat up, for the moment bereft of further speech. "I shan't take any legacy left me by him," she announced, passionately. "Mother, you hear me, I won't."
"Yes, yes, dear," soothingly, and Senator Foster broke in hastily:
"We understand how you must feel."
"Feel!" echoed Kathleen. "Did you for one moment suppose I would accept a penny from Sinclair Spencer or his estate?" and the scorn in her eyes hurt Foster as she looked at him.
"The law requires certain formalities," he said hurriedly. "As executor,
I shall have to talk over his will with you, but later will do."
"Both now and later, I flatly refuse to consider any such bequest he may have made me," went on Kathleen, unheeding his words as her excitement increased, and Miss Kiametia hastened to avert the threatened scene.
"Where were you yesterday afternoon, Randall?" she asked.
"In Baltimore." Foster flashed her a grateful glance. "I hope you made use of my car yesterday, Mrs. Whitney; I told Henry to take it out until yours was repaired."
"You were very kind; Winslow went out in it." Mrs. Whitney's glance strayed to the door; she was anxious to return to her husband's bedside.