“Well, Mrs. Lindsay—­ahem—­pray proceed, madam; let us come to the property.  How does your son stand in that respect?”

“He will have twelve hundred a year, my lord.”

“I told you before, Mrs. Lindsay, that I—­don’t like the future tense—­the present for me.  What has he?”

“It can scarcely be called the future tense, my lord, which you seem to abhor so much.  Nothing stands between him and it but a dying girl.”

“How is that, madam?”

“Why, my lord, his Uncle Hamilton, my brother, had a daughter, an only child, who died of decline, as her mother before her did.  This foolish child was inveigled into an unaccountable affection for the daughter of Mr. Goodwin—­a deep, designing, artful girl—­who contrived to gain a complete ascendency over both father and daughter.  For months before my niece’s death this cunning girl, prompted by her designing family, remained at her sick bed, tended her, nursed her, and would scarcely allow a single individual to approach her except herself.  In short, she gained such an undue and iniquitous influence over both parent and child, that her diabolical object was accomplished.”

“Diabolical!  Well, I can see nothing diabolical in it, for so far.  Affection and sympathy on the one hand, and gratitude on the other—­that seems much more like the thing.  But proceed, madam.”

“Why, my poor brother, who became silly and enfeebled in intellect by the loss of his child, was prevailed on by Miss Goodwin and her family to adopt her as his daughter, and by a series of the most artful and selfish manoeuvres they succeeded in getting the poor imbecile and besotted old man to make a will in her favor; and the consequence was that he left her twelve hundred a year, both to her and her issue, should she marry and have any; but in case she should have no issue, then, after her death, it was to revert to my son Woodward for whom it was originally intended by my brother.  It was a most unprincipled and shameful transaction on the part of these Goodwins.  Providence, however, would seem to have punished them for their iniquity, for Miss Goodwin is dying—­at least, beyond all hope.  The property, of course, will soon be in my son’s possession, where it ought to have been ever since his uncle’s death.  Am I not right, then, in calculating on that property as his?”

“Why, the circumstances you speak of are recent; I remember them well enough.  There was a lawsuit about the will?”

“There was, my lord.”

“And the instrument was proved strictly legal and valid?”

“The suit was certainly determined against us.”

“I’ll tell you what, Mrs. Lindsay; I am certain that I myself would have acted precisely as your brother did.  I know the Goodwins, too, and I know, besides, that they are incapable of reverting to either fraud or undue influence of any kind.  All that you have told me, then, is, with great respect to you, nothing but mere rigmarole.  I am sorry, however, to hear that the daughter, poor girl, is dying.  I hope in God she will recover.”