“Lucy! Yes. I have heard of her; I thought she was dead long ago.”
“She married a man named Galley. They seem to have gone down in the world.”
“More family misfortune.” The lawyer shuddered. “I am not superstitious,” he said, “but really—more misfortunes.”
“Oh, misfortunes! Nonsense! There are always in every family some who go down—some who go up—some who stay there. You yourself have been borne steadily upwards to name and fortune.”
“I have,” said the lawyer, with half a groan. “Oh yes—yes—I have.”
“And my uncle Fred, you see, comes home—all his wild oats sowed—with a great fortune.”
“Truly.” The lawyer’s face lengthened. “A great fortune. He told you so, didn’t he? Yes; we have both been most fortunate and happy, both Fred and I. Go on, Leonard. About these cousins——”
“These are the grandchildren of Lucy Campaigne. I am to see the old lady in a day or two.”
“Do they want anything? Help? Recognition?”
“Nothing, so far as I know. Not even recognition.”