The sordid moneyed class of England will haggle over bequests and
settlements and dowries on their bridal eve, or by the coffins of
their dead. Herminia had no such ignoble possibilities. How could
he speak of it in her presence at a moment like this? How obtrude
such themes on her august sorrow?
"This was drawn up," Dr. Merrick went on in his austere voice, "the
very day before my late son left London. But, of course, you will
have observed it was never executed."
And in point of fact Herminia now listlessly noted that it lacked
Alan's signature.
"That makes it, I need hardly say, of no legal value," the father
went on, with frigid calm. "I bring it round merely to show you
that my son intended to act honorably towards you. As things stand,
of course, he has died intestate, and his property, such as it is,
will follow the ordinary law of succession. For your sake, I am
sorry it should be so; I could have wished it otherwise. However, I
need not remind you"--he picked his phrases carefully with icy
precision--"that under circumstances like these neither you nor your
child have any claim whatsoever upon my son's estate. Nor have I
any right over it. Still"--he paused for a second, and that
incisive mouth strove to grow gentle, while Herminia hot with shame,
confronted him helplessly--"I sympathize with your position, and do
not forget it was Alan who brought you here. Therefore, as an act
of courtesy to a lady in whom he was personally interested . . . if
a slight gift of fifty pounds would be of immediate service to you
in your present situation, why, I think, with the approbation of his
brothers and sisters, who of course inherit--"
Herminia turned upon him like a wounded creature. She thanked the
blind caprice which governs the universe that it gave her strength
at that moment to bear up under his insult. With one angry hand
she waved dead Alan's father inexorably to the door. "Go," she
said simply. "How dare you? how dare you? Leave my rooms this
instant."
Dr. Merrick still irresolute, and anxious in his way to do what he
thought was just, drew a roll of Italian bank notes from his
waistcoat pocket, and laid them on the table. "You may find these
useful," he said, as he retreated awkwardly.
Herminia turned upon him with the just wrath of a great nature
outraged. "Take them up!" she cried fiercely. "Don't pollute my
table!" Then, as often happens to all of us in moments of deep
emotion, a Scripture phrase, long hallowed by childish familiarity,
rose spontaneous to her lips. "Take them up!" she cried again.
"Thy money perish with thee!"