'How the deuce comes this about?' he exclaimed. 'Why, wasn't your
uncle aware of the state of things?'
'Perhaps he was. He may have known that the legacy was a mere
form.'
'You are the only one affected?'
'So father says. It's sure to be the case.'
'This has upset you horribly, I can see. Sit down, Marian. When
did the letter come?'
'This morning.'
'And you have been fretting over it all day. But come, we must
keep up our courage; you may get something substantial out of the
scoundrels still.'
Even whilst he spoke his eyes wandered absently. On the last word
his voice failed, and he fell into abstraction. Marian's look was
fixed upon him, and he became conscious of it. He tried to smile.
'What were you writing?' she asked, making involuntary diversion
from the calamitous theme.
'Rubbish for the Will-o'-the-Wisp. Listen to this paragraph about
English concert audiences.'
It was as necessary to him as to her to have a respite before the
graver discussion began. He seized gladly the opportunity she
offered, and read several pages of manuscript, slipping from one
topic to another.
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