“As you please,” replied Arthur.
“Mr. Wynne,” said I, “while my father lives we shall do nothing; nor even afterward, perhaps. I do not want the money, nor the old home. What is done may depend much on your own actions, sir.” I had no desire to lose this hold on him. As I spoke I saw him look up astonished, as was also, I thought, the lawyer, who knew nothing of our quarrels.
“If,” said I, “you had come to us frankly at first, and stated why you came, we should have said what I now say. No, I should have said far more. I believe this ends the matter for the present.” My aunt lifted her hand, but I added, “I pray you let it rest here, aunt,” and for a wonder she held her peace.
Arthur, too, seemed about to speak, but his worse or better angel, I know not which, prevailed, and quietly saluting us all, he rose and took his leave.
“We shall see when this war is over,” said my aunt, taking the deed. “Many thanks, Mr. Wilson; I should like to have your opinion in writing.”
“I shall send it in a week or two. Mr. Arthur Wynne seems to have come over, as I judge from what he said, with authority to act for his father. Why he did not at once relate his errand I cannot see. Had you had no deed it would have closed the matter. If he found you had one he would have been only in the position he is now in to-day.”
“I fancy he may have been fearful and over-cautious, not comprehending the nature of those he had to deal with,” said I. “You must have known him as I do, Mr. Wilson, to understand his actions. I was sorry you did not let him tell us what powers he really had. I was curious.”
“Yes, yes, I interrupted him. It was a mistake.” And so saying he rose.
“It shall not rest here,” said my aunt. “Something shall be done.” And on this I too went away, declining further talk.
When Arthur came over to learn what he could as to their title to Wyncote, he failed to see that we were people whom no prospect of gain could lead into the taking of an advantage. He thus lost the chance a little honest directness would have given him. When later my father threw in his way the opportunity of absolute security as to the title, the temptation to get secretly from him a legal transfer, or—God knows—perhaps the power to destroy the deed, was too much for a morally weak and quite reckless nature. I was the sole obstacle, or I seemed to be. We loved the same woman; she had begun to doubt her English lover. If I had died he had become assured, not only of the possession of Wyncote, but of being ultimately my father’s heir.