Part 37 (1/2)

”Yes. You have married since then.”

”I married Mr. Swinton, the rector of St. Botolph's.”

”Indeed, indeed. That is very interesting. And now you are living--?”

”At the rectory, on Riverside Drive.”

”Ah, yes.--And your father is well, I presume.”

”As well as can be expected,” answered Mrs. Swinton, tartly. ”It is about money-matters I have come to you, Mr. Jevons. I want to know if it is possible by any means to raise the sum of seven thousand dollars.”

”That is not a large sum. There ought to be no difficulty.”

”You think so!” she cried, eagerly.

”Well, it depends. The income your mother left you--if it is not in any way mortgaged--should give ample security.”

”My mother left me no income.”

”I beg your pardon?” queried the old man, curtly, as if he doubted his hearing.

”My income is pitifully small, Mr. Jevons--only four thousand a year, which my father allows me, and he makes a favor of that, often withholding it, and plunging me into debt.”

Mr. Jevons looked incredulous. ”Four thousand a year. Did you see your mother's will, Mrs. Swinton?”

”No. Did she make a will?”

”Yes, of course. I drew it up for her. You were only a girl then, I remember. You were away in Europe, in a convent, were you not, when your mother died?”

”Yes, and father wouldn't allow me to come home.”

”Under that will, your mother left you something more than twenty thousand a year.”

”Mr. Jevons, you are thinking of someone else. You have so many clients you are mixing them up. My father, who is little better than a miser, absorbed the whole of my mother's income at her death.”

”Impossible! Impossible! Your mother left you considerably more than half-a-million dollars. It was because of a dispute over the sum that I withdrew from your father's affairs. I was his lawyer once, you remember.

A difficult man--a difficult man. You don't mean to tell me that you have received from your father only four thousand a year? It's incredible.

It's illegal.”

Mrs. Swinton laid her hand upon her heart, to still the throbbing set up by this startling turn of affairs.

”But, when you were married, what was your husband thinking of not to see your mother's will, and get proper settlements?”

”My husband has no head for money-affairs. It was a love match. We eloped, and father never forgave us.”

Mr. Jevons gave vent to his anger in little, jerky exclamations of amazement.

”Mrs. Swinton, I ought to tell you that I always disapproved of your father's management of your mother's affairs--and his own. It was on this very question of your mother's money that I split with him. He insulted me, put obstacles in the way of my transacting his legal business, and I had no option but to withdraw. There was a clause in your mother's will which stipulated that your income should be paid to you quarterly, or at other intervals of time, according to your father's discretion. He chose to read that to mean that he could pay you money at discretion in small or large sums, as he thought fit. You were a mere child at the time, and your father was your natural guardian. I always suspected him of having some designs upon that money, for he bitterly resented the idea of a girl having an income at all. He was peculiar in money matters--I will not say grasping.”

”He was a thief--is a thief!” cried Mrs. Swinton, breathing heavily, her eyes flas.h.i.+ng with excitement. ”Go on.”