But the manager cared too well to keep his own post, and knew William Massarene too well to venture to express this opinion.
“My dear child, something has riled your father dreadful,” said Mrs. Massarene after luncheon that day; “he’s got his black cap on; oh, I always calls it his black cap when he looks thunder and lightning like, as he do to-day, and swallers his food without a word.”
“Perhaps the Prince is not coming on the tenth,” said her daughter, with that inflection of contempt which she knew was unfilial, and which they told her was disloyal.
Mrs. Massarene shook her head.
“The Prince always comes here. He don’t get better dinners nowhere; and he’s a deal o’ use for your father in many ways. ’Tisn’t that. I am afeared ’tis some of the folks out in Dakota as bothers him.”
“He must have so many who hate him!” said Katherine.
“Well, yes, my dear, no doubt,” said his wife mournfully. “Did you ever see a hogshead o’ molasses without wasps? He have a very big fortune, has your father.”
Katherine was silent.
“Do you know, if he were to die, what he would do with it?” she said after awhile.
“Why, leave it to you, my dear. Who else should have it?”