He had been at Versailles to stay a few days during the previous
spring, and Margaret had seen him several times in the interval, and
they had occasionally exchanged letters. She was quite well aware that
he was in love with her, and she liked him enough not to discourage
him. To marry him would be quite another question, though she did not
look upon it as impossible. Before all, she intended to wait until her
own position was clearly defined.
For the present she did not know whether she had inherited a large
fortune, or was practically a penniless orphan living on the charity of
her friend Mrs. Rushmore; and several months might pass before this
vital question was solved. Mrs. Rushmore believed that Margaret would
get the money, or a large part of it; Margaret did not, and in the
meantime she was doing her best to cultivate her voice in order to
support herself by singing.
Her father had been English, a distinguished student and critical
scholar, holding a professorship of which the income, together with
what he received from writing learned articles in the serious reviews,
had sufficed for himself, his wife and his only child. At his death he
had left little except his books, his highly honourable reputation and
a small life insurance.
He had married an American whose father had been rich at the time, but
had subsequently lost all he possessed by an unfortunate investment,
depending upon an invention, which had afterwards become enormously
valuable. Finding himself driven to extremities and on the verge of
failure, he had been glad to make over his whole interest to a distant
relative, who assumed his liabilities as well as his chances of
success. Utterly ruined, save in reputation, he had bravely accepted a
salaried post, had worked himself to death in eighteen months and had
died universally respected by his friends and as poor as Job.
His daughter, Mrs. Donne, had felt her position keenly. She was a
sensitive woman, she had married a poor man for love, expecting to make
him rich; and instead, she was now far poorer than he. He, on his part,
never bestowed a thought on the matter. He was simple and unselfish and
he loved her simply and unselfishly. She died of a fever at forty-two
and her death killed him. Two years later, Margaret Donne was alone in
the world.
Mrs. Rushmore had known Margaret's American grandmother and had been
Mrs. Donne's best friend. She had grave doubts as to the conditions on
which the whole interest in the invention had been ceded to old Alvah
Moon, the Californian millionaire, and, after consulting her own
lawyers in New York, she had insisted upon bringing suit against him,
in Margaret Donne's name, but at her own risk, for the recovery of an
equitable share of the fortune. A tenth part of it would have made the
girl rich, but there were great difficulties in the way of obtaining
evidence as to an implied agreement, and Alvah Moon was as hard as
bedrock.