The Canadian. W. Somerset Maugham
mean the will stands as it is, doesn't it?"
"Certainly it does."
"I'm afraid it's a great disappointment to you, Miss Marsh," Wickham said, not unkindly.
"I never count my chickens before they're hatched." This time Nora smiled easily and naturally. The worst was over now.
"It would be very natural if Miss Marsh were disappointed in the circumstances. I think she'd been led to expect——" Mr. Wynne's voice was almost pleading.
Mrs. Wickham detected a certain disapproval in the tone. She hastened to justify herself. He might still be useful. When the estate was once settled, they would of course put everything in the hands of their London solicitor. But it would be better not to antagonize him for the moment.
"Our aunt left a very small fortune, I understand, and I suppose she felt it wouldn't be fair to leave a large part of it away from her own family."
"Of course," said her husband, following her lead, "it is family money. She inherited it from my grandfather, and—but I want you to know, Miss Marsh, that my wife and I thoroughly appreciate all you did for my aunt. Money couldn't repay your care and devotion You've been perfectly wonderful."
"It's extremely good of you to say so."
"I think everyone who saw Miss Marsh with Miss Wickham must be aware that during the ten years she was with her she never spared herself." Mr. Wynne's eyes were on Mrs. Wickham.
"Of course my aunt was a very trying woman——" began James Wickham feebly. His wife headed him off.
"Earning one's living is always unpleasant; if it weren't there'd be no incentive to work."
This astonishing aphorism was almost too much for Nora's composure. She gave Mrs. Wickham an amused glance, to which that lady responded by beaming upon her in her most agreeable manner.
"My wife and I would be very glad to make some kind of acknowledgment of your services."
"I was just going to mention it," echoed Mrs. Wickham heartily.
Mr. Wynne's kindly face brightened visibly. He was glad they were going to do the right thing, after all. He had been a little fearful a few moments before. "I felt sure that in the circumstances——"
But Mrs. Wickham interrupted him quickly.
"What were your wages, may I ask, Miss Marsh?"
"Thirty pounds a year."
"Really?" in a tone of excessive surprise. "Many ladies are glad to go as companion without any salary, just for the sake of a home and congenial society. I daresay you've been able to save a good deal in all these years."
"I had to dress myself decently, Mrs. Wickham," said Nora frigidly.
Mrs. Wickham was graciousness itself. "Well, I'm sure my husband will be very glad to give you a year's salary, won't you, Jim?"
"It's very kind of you," replied Nora coldly, "but I'm not inclined to accept anything but what is legally due to me."
"You must remember," went on Mrs. Wickham, "that there'll be very heavy death duties to pay. They'll swallow up the income from Miss Wickham's estate for at least two years, won't they, Mr. Wynne?"
"I quite understand," said Nora.
"Perhaps you'll change your mind."
"I don't think so."
There was an awkward pause. Mr. Wynne rose from his seat at the table. His manner showed unmistakably that he was not impressed by Mrs. Wickham's great generosity.
"Well, I think I must leave you," he said, looking at Nora. "Good-by, Miss Marsh. If I can be of any help to you I hope you'll let me know."
"That's very kind of you."
Bowing slightly to Mrs. Wickham and nodding to her husband, he went out.
"We must go, too, Dorothy," said James uneasily.
Mrs. Wickham began drawing on her gloves. "Jim will be writing to you in a day or two. You know how grateful we both are for all you did for our poor aunt. We shall be glad to give you the very highest references. You're such a wonderful nurse. I'm sure you'll have no difficulty in getting another situation; I expect I can find you something myself. I'll ask among all my friends."
Nora made no reply to this affable speech.
"Come on, Dorothy; we really haven't any time to lose," said Wickham hurriedly.
"Good-by, Miss Marsh."
"Good-by," said Nora dully. She stood, her hands resting on the table, her eyes fastened on the long blue envelope which Mr. Wynne had forgotten. From a long way off she heard the wheels of the cab on the driveway.
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