It is not very easy to conceive of the disappointment felt by persons to whom a gigantic fortune has been left by a will which is then entirely set aside, so that they receive absolutely nothing. It would be useless to attempt an analysis of the state of mind which prevailed in the households of the Brights and the Crowdies after judgment had been given against them in the court of probate. The blow was sudden and stunning. Though they were all very well-to-do, even rich, in the ordinary acceptation of that word, their joint imagination had of late so completely outrun their present circumstances, that they felt impoverished when the hope of millions was removed beyond their reach. They could not realize that the will was absolutely valueless, and they still felt sure that something might be done.

Unfortunately for them the matter had been finally settled. In the presence of witnesses who denied one another’s identity, and threatened one another reciprocally with actions for perjury, the court could hardly have done otherwise than it had done. To this day it is still doubtful—from a legal point of view—which of the John Simonses signed as a witness, though everything goes to show that the last one produced was the right one, in spite of the fact that the others denied having known him. Persimmons had, from the first, denied having had anything to do with the matter, but he had subsequently sworn to all manner of statements. The confusion was complete. There was no doubt that the respectable John Simons who appeared last was a tenant of one of the Lauderdale houses in MacDougal Street, and he said that he had found himself at Robert Lauderdale’s house, having gone to complain of a leak in his roof to old Robert himself, after having vainly laid his grievance before the agent a number of times. The story was probably true, but the other witnesses remained firm in their assertion that he was not the man. They were, perhaps, telling the truth to the best of their ability. Neither Persimmons nor John Simons were men who had anything unusual about them to impress itself upon their memory. They themselves, somewhat awed by the presence of the great millionaire, had looked at him much more than at their insignificant fellow-witness. The room had not been light, for the signing had taken place late in the afternoon, as all agreed in stating, and they had not remained in one another’s presence more than three minutes altogether. Simons, said the other two, had stayed behind, whereas they had left the room immediately. It was not surprising that their memory of the man’s face should be indistinct.

The Brights, however, threw the whole blame upon the Lauderdales and their legal advisers. The latter had not the right, they said, to make the two witnesses sign an affidavit beforehand to the effect that they recognized the third. The Lauderdales answered that there was no law to hinder them from requesting any individual with whom they had to do, to swear to any statement he made. The two need not have signed unless they pleased. There had been no pressure brought to bear upon them. They had said that they recognized Persimmons. The Lauderdale lawyers wished to make sure that they did, so as to avoid any subsequent trouble, because Persimmons denied that he was the man, and might disappear before the hearing. What was more natural than that, out of pure caution, they should have wished to file an affidavit of the man’s identity? The Brights, amongst themselves, were obliged to admit that they did not really know who had signed, and that the only person who could have settled the dispute was dead, so that they could not blame the court for its decision.

After the judgment John Simons quarrelled with the other two, who turned upon him in defence of their own reputations. They swore out warrants against one another which were not served, and they pottered amongst shysters and legal small fry, until they had spent most of their money, and disappeared from the horizon with their quarrel. The private opinion of the judge who had settled the question was that there had been an unfortunate mistake, and that all three had originally intended to be perfectly honest. But he also thought it far more just that the fortune should go to the next of kin, in spite of Robert Lauderdale’s wishes.

Alexander Lauderdale did his best to conceal his delight in his triumph. It had been a far more easy victory than he had expected, and it was practically complete. The only drawback was that the fortune had come into his old father’s hands instead of into his own, but he anticipated no difficulty in ruling the old gentleman according to his own judgment, nor in getting control of the whole estate. He intended to treat it as he had treated his own comparatively small possessions, and he had hopes of seeing it doubled in his lifetime. He could make it double itself in twenty years at the utmost, and he was but fifty years of age, or thereabouts. He should live as long as that, with his iron constitution and careful habits.

His father received the news with an old man’s chuckle of pleasure, and one heavy hand fell into the other with a loud slap of satisfaction. He had but one idea, which was to extend the scope and efficiency of his charitable institutions, and he saw at last that he had boundless power to do so.

“I always knew I should live to build that other asylum myself!” he cried, referring to one of his favourite schemes. “It will only cost a million or so, and another million as a foundation will run it. I’ll send for the architects at once.”

Alexander Junior smiled, for he believed that he was quite able to prevent any such extravagance by getting himself appointed his father’s guardian, on the ground that the old gentleman would squander everything in senseless charities. But in the meanwhile it would take some time to make the division of the property, which was almost wholly in real estate, as has been seen, and could not be so readily apportioned as though it had been held in bond and mortgage. Of course the administrators would allow either of the heirs to draw a large amount on credit before the settling, if they desired to do so.

Alexander Senior said that he meant to live in Clinton Place for the rest of his life, and his son considered this a very wise decision. The people who lived opposite began to watch the old gentleman, who had inherited over forty millions, when he went out on foot in his shabby coat for his airing on fine days. They wondered why he did not buy a new one, as they did, when their overcoats were worn out.

Mrs. Lauderdale was indignant at the idea of continuing to inhabit the old house. In her mind it was associated with a quarter of a century of penurious economy, and she longed at last for the luxury she enjoyed so thoroughly in the houses of others.

“It’s perfectly absurd,” she said to Katharine, indignantly. “I’ve stood it all these years because I had to—but I won’t stand it any longer. If ever I paint another miniature! But I’d made up my mind that I wouldn’t do that, even if we didn’t get all the money.”

“I should think so!” laughed Katharine. “Put away your paints and your brushes, mother, and say that you’ll never use them any more. You’ll be at it again as hard as ever in a week, because you really like it, you know!”

“I suppose so.” And Mrs. Lauderdale laughed, too. “Let’s go out, child. Let’s take a long drive—somewhere. I suppose we can drive as much as we like now.”

“From morning till night,” answered Katharine; “why don’t we use the horses and carriages? They’re all there, you know, and all the grooms and coachmen and everything, just as though nothing had happened.”

“Do you think we could just go there and order a carriage?” asked Mrs. Lauderdale, rather doubtfully.

“Why, of course! Whose are they all, if they’re not ours and the Ralstons’? We have a perfect right—”

“Yes—but if we were to meet people—don’t you know?”

“Well—they’re our carriages, not theirs.” Katharine laughed again. “The only question is whether they’ll belong to the Ralstons or to us. I suppose they’ll all be sold and we shall buy new ones.”

“I don’t see why,” answered Mrs. Lauderdale. “They’re perfectly good carriages, and there are some splendid horses—”

Twenty-five years of rigid economy were not to be forgotten in a day, and Alexander Junior saw with satisfaction that his wife showed no signs of developing any very reprehensible extravagance. But she enjoyed that first drive, lying back in the luxurious carriage with her daughter by her side, and feeling that it all belonged to her, or, at least, that she was privileged to consider that it did, as much as though she had inherited the fortune herself.

Aunt Maggie Bright saw the two in the Park and bent her head rather stiffly. She recognized the carriage and spoke of the meeting to her son that evening.

“They’ve a right to do as they please,” answered Hamilton gravely. “As for the carriages and all the personal belongings, they’d have had them anyway. I should like to know where that other will is, though. If he didn’t destroy it, it’s good now.”

“If it’s in existence, it will turn up amongst the papers one of these days.”

“Unless Alexander gets at them—then it won’t,” said Bright, savagely.

“Perhaps that isn’t quite just, Ham. I don’t think Alexander’s capable of destroying such a thing.”

“Oh—isn’t he! You don’t know him, mother. If you think anything would stand in the way of his defending his millions, you’re very much mistaken. There’s been something very queer about the whole affair. That affidavit wasn’t straight.”

They argued the case and talked over it, as they had done many times already, without coming to any conclusion, except that they should have had the money and Alexander should not. They always considered that he had got the property, though it was really his father’s. But they both knew how futile discussion was, and they abandoned it at last, as they always did, with a hopeless conviction that the truth could never be known.

Katharine on her side was much disturbed by what she knew of the previous will, and she took counsel with John Ralston, as to how she should act. There was not much to be done, since the will itself had not been found up to the present date, though the administrators had been already some time engaged in examining the papers. Of these there was no end, though the agent of the estate was acquainted with most of them. They consisted chiefly of title deeds and leases.

By this time Alexander had practically admitted that Katharine was engaged to be married to Ralston, but like every one else concerned, he thought it better to wait until the summer, before announcing the fact. To do so now would look as though the family had only waited for Robert Lauderdale’s death. Moreover, though it is so little the custom to wear mourning for any but the very nearest nowadays, the inheritance of wealth requires a corresponding show of grief on the part of the heirs. There is a sort of tacit understanding about that. When an uncle leaves a fortune, the particular nephew who gets it must acknowledge the fact and propitiate the shade of the dear departed with a decently broad hatband. The position of the Brights caused some amusement. They had worn something approaching to mourning after old Lauderdale’s death, but they did not think it necessary to continue to do so after the court had set aside the will. The Lauderdales and the Ralstons wore half mourning.

As has been said, Katharine’s engagement was accepted as a fact in the family, and she had no difficulty in seeing Ralston as often as she pleased, when he was free from his work. He had told Mr. Beman that he should prefer to stay in the bank for a time and learn something about business, and Beman had been delighted, especially when he saw that John came as regularly as ever.