"Do you—do you mean, Cleland, that—that any legal steps to re-open——"
"Good Lord, no!" exclaimed Grismer, contemptuously. "She wouldn't touch a penny of Grismer money—not a penny! I wouldn't lift a finger to stir up that mess again, even if it meant a million for her!"
Grismer breathed more easily, though Cleland's frank and unconcealed scorn left a slight red on his parchment-like skin.
"Our conception of moral and spiritual responsibility differs, I fear," he said, "—as widely as our creeds differ. I regret that my friend of many years should appear to be a trifle biassed—m-m-m'yes, a trifle biassed in his opinion——"
"It's none of my affair, Grismer. We're different, that's all. You had, perhaps, a legal right to your unhappy sister's share of the Grismer inheritance. You exercised it; I should not have done so. It's a matter of conscience—to put it pleasantly."
"It is a matter of creed," said Grismer grimly. "It was God's will."
Cleland shrugged.
"Let it go at that. Anyway, you needn't worry over any possible action that might be brought against you or your heirs. There won't be any. What I meant was that the child's aunt, Miss Rosalinda Quest, seems determined to leave little Stephanie a great deal more money than is good for anybody. It isn't necessary. I don't believe in fortunes. I'm wary of them, afraid of them. They change people—often change their very natures. I've seen it too many times—observed the undesirable change in people who were quite all right before they came into fortunes. No; I am able to provide for her amply; I have done so. That ought to be enough."
Grismer's dry, thin lips remained parted; he scarcely breathed; and his remarkable eyes continued to bore into Cleland with an intensity almost savage.
Finally he said, in a voice so dry that it seemed to crackle: