‘And about his failing health, and then about his being so much better. But nothing now for ages.’
‘Did the “World” tell you,’ asked Miss Anderson, with sudden interest, ‘that Mr. Prendergast came into a considerable fortune before—about two years ago?’
Mrs. Innes’s face turned suddenly blank. ‘How much?’ she exclaimed.
‘About five hundred thousand dollars, I believe. Left him by a cousin. Then you didn’t know?’
‘That must have been Gordon Prendergast—the engineer!’ Mrs. Innes said, with excitement. ‘Fancy that! Leaving money to a relation in Sing Sing! Hadn’t altered his will, I suppose. Who could possibly,’ and her face fell visibly, ‘have foreseen such a thing?’
‘No one, I think,’ said Madeline, through a little edged smile. ‘On that point you will hardly be criticized.’
Mrs. Innes, with clasped hands, was sunk in thought. She raised her eyes with a conviction in them which she evidently felt to be pathetic.
‘After all,’ she said, ‘there is something in what the padres say about our reaping the reward of our misdeeds in this world—some of us, anyway. If I had stayed in New York—’
‘Yes?’ said Madeline. ‘I shall wake up presently,’ she reflected, ‘and find that I have been dreaming melodrama.’ But that was a fantastic underscoring of her experience. She knew very well she was making it.
Mrs. Innes, again wrapped in astonished contemplation, did not reply. Then she jumped to her feet with a gesture that cast fortunes back into the lap of fate.