Her real wish, as expressed to me, was, that the
children should remain with me in any case, in their proper home."
"You say you have that other letter still?" cried the dowager, who was
not always very clear in her conversation.
"No doubt."
"Then perhaps you'll look for it: and read over her wishes in black and
white."
"To what end? It would make no difference in my decision. I tell you,
ma'am, I am consulting Maude's wishes in keeping her child at home."
"I know better," retorted the dowager, completely losing her temper. "I
wish your poor dear wife could rise from her grave and confute you. It's
all stinginess; because you won't part with a paltry bit of money."
"No," said Val, "it's because I won't part with my child. Understand me,
Lady Kirton--had Maude's wishes even been with you in this, I should not
carry them out. As to money--I may have something to say to you on that
score; but suppose we postpone it to a more fitting opportunity."
"You wouldn't carry them out!" she cried. "But you might be forced to,
you mean man! That letter may be as good as a will in the eyes of the
law. You daren't produce it; that's what it is."
"I'll give it you with pleasure," said Val, with a smile. "That is, if
I have kept it. I am not sure."
She caught up her fan, and sat fanning herself. The reservation had
suggested a meaning never intended to her crafty mind; her rebellious
son-in-law meant to destroy the letter; and she began wondering how she
could outwit him.
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