"Why, none."
"None? Did the girl live on air? And what for your own services?"
"Nothing; we lived rent free. It is Molly's own house; and her mother's money kept the household."
"Well, but—captain—the thing is incredible. You have conducted the whole business from the death of Molly's father to the present day actually for nothing."
"It was for the little maid."
"Captain, you have acted, I dare say, for the best. But with submission, you have acted like a fool. However, it is not too late to remedy. I shall charge the estate, which will now become Lord Fylingdale's, with £300 a year, your salary for administering the estate and for managing the business. It will be impossible to refuse this claim, and I shall set down £150 a year for maintenance of your ward."
The captain stared. Here was a turning of the tables, with a vengeance.
"The claim is just, reasonable, and moderate. I shall not advance it as a thing to be objected to. You will, meantime, go through the accounts; take out £450 a year; this for eighteen years, would be £8,100; but the money must be considered as used for investments. You will therefore set apart £450 a year, and as soon as that amounts to a sufficient sum to be represented by an investment, you will set apart that piece of property as your own. This will represent a much larger sum than £8,100. Your ward will not, after all, be left penniless, if you bequeath her your money. Ha! the young man is going to direct me in matters of law—me, is he?"
In fact the captain was so simple that it had never occurred to him that he could take a salary for his conduct of the business; or that he could ask for an allowance for the maintenance of his ward, and this timely discovery by the attorney in the end saved Molly from poverty and left her still, in comparison with most girls of the place or of the county, a very considerable heiress.
When Mr. Bisse, a few days later, arrived with his instructions, he found drawn up for him a statement for the eighteen years of the captain's trusteeship. On the working side of the account was shown a charge of £150 a year as provided by the will of Molly's father for his widow for life; a similar sum for the maintenance of the ward, and a salary of £300 to Captain Crowle for managing the business in the name of the firm as shippers and general merchants. Mr. Stephen Bisse, by this time, had quite lost his assurance. He attempted no objections. "I suppose," he said, "you will allow me an inspection of the books."