He knew that a token of remembrance (the smaller the better) was all I could accept, if I happened to outlive him. Please go on, Mr. Mool."
In one respect, Ovid resembled his late uncle. They both belonged to that high-minded order of men, who are slow to suspect, and therefore easy to deceive. Ovid tenderly took his mother's hand.
"I ought to have known it," he said, "without obliging you to tell me."
Mrs. Gallilee did not blush. Mr. Mool did.
"Go on!" Mrs. Gallilee repeated. Mr. Mool looked at Ovid. "The next name, Mr. Vere, is yours."
"Does my uncle remember me as he has remembered my mother?" asked Ovid.
"Yes, sir--and let me tell you, a very pretty compliment is attached to the bequest. 'It is needless' (your late uncle says) 'to leave any more important proof of remembrance to my nephew. His father has already provided for him; and, with his rare abilities, he will make a second fortune by the exercise of his profession.' Most gratifying, Mrs. Gallilee, is it nor? The next clause provides for the good old housekeeper Teresa, and for her husband if he survives her, in the following terms--"
Mrs. Gallilee was becoming impatient to hear more of herself. "We may, I think, pass over that," she suggested, "and get to the part of it which relates to Carmina and me. Don't think I am impatient; I am only desirous--"
The growling of a dog in the conservatory interrupted her. "That tiresome creature!" she said sharply; "I shall be obliged to get rid of him!"
Mr. Mool volunteered to drive the dog out of the conservatory. Mrs. Gallilee, as irritable as ever, stopped him at the door.
"Don't, Mr. Mool! That dog's temper is not to be trusted. He shows it with Miss Minerva, my governess--growls just in that way whenever he sees her. I dare say he smells you. There! Now he barks! You are only making him worse. Come back!"
Being at the door, gentle Mr. Mool tried the ferns as peace-makers once more. He gathered a leaf, and returned to his place in a state of meek admiration. "The flowering fern!" he said softly.
"A really fine specimen, Mrs. Gallilee, of the Osmunda Regalis. What a world of beauty in this bipinnate frond! One hardly knows where the stalk ends and the leaf begins!"
The dog, a bright little terrier, came trotting into the library He saluted the company briskly with his tail, not excepting Mr. Mool. No growl, or approach to a growl, now escaped him. The manner in which he laid himself down at Mrs. Gallilee's feet completely refuted her aspersion on his temper. Ovid suggested that he might have been provoked by a cat in the conservatory.
Meanwhile, Mr. Mool turned over a page of the Will, and arrived at the clauses relating to Carmina and her guardian.
"It may not be amiss," he began, "to mention, in the first place, that the fortune left to Miss Carmina amounts, in round numbers, to one hundred and thirty thousand pounds. The Trustees--"
"Skip the Trustees," said Mrs. Gallilee.
Mr. Mool skipped.
"In the matter of the guardian," he said, "there is a preliminary clause, in the event of your death or refusal to act, appointing Lady Northlake--"
"Skip Lady Northlake," said Mrs. Gallilee.
Mr. Mool skipped.
"You are appointed Miss Carmina's guardian, until she comes of age," he resumed. "If she marries in that interval--"
He paused to turn over a page. Not only Mrs. Gallilee, but Ovid also, now listened with the deepest interest.
"If she marries in that interval, with her guardian's approval--"
"Suppose I don't approve of her choice?" Mrs. Gallilee interposed.
Ovid looked at his mother--and quickly looked away again. The restless little terrier caught his eye, and jumped up to be patted. Ovid was too pre-occupied to notice this modest advance. The dog's eyes and ears expressed reproachful surprise. His friend Ovid had treated him rudely for the first time in his life.
"If the young lady contracts a matrimonial engagement of which you disapprove," Mr. Mool answered, "you are instructed by the testator to assert your reasons in the presence of--well, I may describe it, as a family council; composed of Mr. Gallilee, and of Lord and Lady Northlake."
"Excessively foolish of Robert," Mrs. Gallilee remarked. "And what, Mr. Mool, is this meddling council of three to do?"
"A majority of the council, Mrs. Gallilee, is to decide the question absolutely. If the decision confirms your view, and if Miss Carmina still persists in her resolution notwithstanding--"
"Am I to give way?" Mrs. Gallilee asked.
"Not until your niece comes of age, ma'am. Then, she decides for herself."
"And inherits the fortune?"
"Only an income from part of it--if her marriage is disapproved by her guardian and her relatives."
"And what becomes of the rest?"
"The whole of it," said Mr. Mool, "will be invested by the Trustees, and will be divided equally, on her death, among her children."
"Suppose she leaves no children?"
"That case is provided for, ma'am, by the last clause. I will only say now, that you are interested in the result."
Mrs. Gallilee turned swiftly and sternly to her son. "When I am dead and gone," she said, "I look to you to defend my memory."
"To defend your memory?" Ovid repeated, wondering what she could possibly mean.
"If I do become interested in the disposal of Robert's fortune--which God forbid!--can't you foresee what will happen?" his mother inquired bitterly. "Lady Northlake will say, 'Maria intrigued for this!'"
Mr. Mool looked doubtfully at the ferns. No! His vegetable allies were not strong enough to check any further outpouring of such family feeling as this. Nothing was to be trusted, in the present emergency, but the superior authority of the Will.
"Pardon me," he said; "there are some further instructions, Mrs. Gallilee, which, as I venture to think, exhibit your late brother's well-known liberality of feeling in a very interesting light. They relate to the provision made for his daughter, while she is residing under your roof. Miss Carmina is to have the services of the best masters, in finishing her education."
"Certainly!" cried Mrs. Gallilee, with the utmost fervour.
"And the use of a carriage to herself, whenever she may require it."
"No, Mr. Mool! Two carriages--in such a climate as this. One open, and one closed."
"And to defray these and other expenses, the Trustees are authorized to place at your disposal one thousand a year."
"Too much! too much!"
Mr. Mool might have agreed with her--if he had nor known that Robert Graywell had thought of his sister's interests, in making this excessive provision for expenses incurred on his daughter's account.
"Perhaps, her dresses and her pocket money are included?" Mrs. Gallilee resumed.
Mr. Mool smiled, and shook his head. "Mr. Graywell's generosity has no limits," he said, "where his daughter is concerned. Miss Carmina is to have five hundred a year for pocket-money and dresses."
Mrs. Gallilee appealed to the sympathies of her son. "Isn't it touching?" she said. "Dear Carmina! my own people in Paris shall make her dresses.