Ten years brooding on a fancied injustice
by a woman living alone, and doubtless often in dire poverty, had
mixed together the actual and the imaginary until now, what had
possibly been an aimless flirtation on the part of the young man,
unexpectedly discovered by the father, had formed itself into the
tragedy which she had told me.
'Would it not be well,' I suggested, 'to lay the facts before the
present Lord Rantremly?'
'I have done so,' she answered simply.
'With what result?'
'His lordship said my story was preposterous. In examining the late
lord's private papers, he discovered the letter which I typed and
signed. He said very coldly that the fact that I had waited until
everyone who could corroborate or deny my story was dead, united with
the improbability of the narrative itself, would very likely consign
me to prison if I made public a statement so incredible.'
'Well, you know, madam, I think his lordship is right.'
'He offered me an annuity of fifty pounds, which I refused.'
'In that refusal, madam, I think you are wrong. If you take my advice,
you will accept the annuity.'
The woman rose slowly to her feet.
'It is not money I am after,' she said, 'although, God knows, I have
often been in sore need of it.
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