“Never mind by what you are led,” interposed Keene, smiling faintly. “Give me the bare facts.”
“They are these,” nodded the lawyer gravely. “Two years ago, Jacob Moore took it into his head that it would be well if his daughter were married to Thorpe, and the couple settled in the old home. Now, bear in mind that Jacob Moore was not a man to be easily turned from a project which he seriously favored. His proposition proved acceptable to his nephew, but not to his daughter. She flatly declared that she’d not even think of it.”
“Whatever it may have been like,” replied the lawyer, “the girl proved inflexible. The family broil, however, brought out the fact that she was in love with another, a man named Jeffrey, who is a carpenter by trade, and is said to be an honest and reliable fellow. I have seen him but once. If he is as good a man as he looks, I don’t blame the girl for her choice.”
“Did Mr. Moore give his consent to the girl’s marriage to Jeffrey?” asked Keene carelessly.
“Quite the contrary,” said the lawyer, with significance. “He threatened to disown the girl if she married him, which, with a will quite as strong as that of the old man himself, she speedily did. As a result, there has been a total estrangement of the two ever since.”
“Has the girl always been so headstrong?”
“She has always been dutiful, as I have observed her, and, to my way of thinking, was so in this matter. Her final determination resulted not only from a genuine love for Jeffrey, but also from the fact that he had recently buried his mother, by whose death he was left alone in the world. He had, however, a comfortable house, with several acres of arable land. To make a long story short, Mabel Moore, despite her father’s bitter opposition, married Jeffrey and went to live with him.”
“This was about a year ago?”
“Just about,” nodded the lawyer. “Since then Moore has been more morose and crabbed than ever. He has refused to recognize either his daughter or her husband, and even young Thorpe has scarce been able to endure him. As his solicitor, I have occasionally been out to see him, and was always glad to return. A more surly and perverse old codger could not be imagined.”
“Has he made a will?” inquired Keene.