“No.” A hard look had come into Virginia's face. She grasped only the big salient fact of Benson's utter treachery; for the manouvres which led up to it, and which so impressed Wade, she cared nothing; they did not interest her now that Benson's dishonesty seemed clear. She was thinking of what Stephen Landray's life had been in Kansas, for Gibbs had long since told her the whole story of his failure there; and she hated Benson for his lonely death. If that money had come to her, he might have been saved.
“I wish you would tell me what you want me to do, Mrs. Lan-dray,” said Wade.
“I shall sue Mr. Benson,” said Virginia.
Wade nodded eagerly.
“Of course, you can't let the matter slip; it wouldn't be just to yourself.”
“Or to Stephen,” added Virginia.
Wade gave her a blank stare at this.
“I am getting to be an old woman, Mr. Wade; for myself I no longer care; whatever I do will be for that poor boy's sake—for Stephen's sake.” She gazed sombrely at Wade, and he hid a smile; to characterize Stephen as that poor boy, struck him as being very funny, a touch of humour of which he had not suspected her capable.
“Yes, Mrs. Landray?” he prompted, for she was gazing abstractedly from the window.
“I must see Stephen. I have told him nothing yet,” she said.