The junior clerk of Messrs Jevons & Jevons carried Mrs. Swinton’s card to the senior partner, a hoary-headed old man, well stricken in years. When the card was scrutinized, he could not recall the personality of Mrs. Swinton. He sent for his confidential clerk, who was also at a disadvantage, yet they both seemed to remember having heard the name before.

At last, however, the client was ushered in, and Mr. Jevons hoped that his eyes would repair the lapse of his memory. A pale, dark-eyed, slender woman, wrapped in furs, entered.

“You don’t remember me, Mr. Jevons?”

“Ah! now I hear your voice, I remember. You are the daughter of Mr. Herresford.”

“You were once my mother’s lawyer, Mr. Jevons,” said Mrs. Swinton, plunging at once into business.

“I had that honor. Won’t you sit down?”

“It is twenty-five years ago—more than that.”

“Yes. You have married since then.”

“I married Mr. Swinton, the rector of St. Botolph’s.” 289

“Indeed, indeed. That is very interesting. And now you are living—?”

“At the rectory, on Riverside Drive.”

“Ah, yes.—And your father is well, I presume.”

“As well as can be expected,” answered Mrs. Swinton, tartly. “It is about money-matters I have come to you, Mr. Jevons. I want to know if it is possible by any means to raise the sum of seven thousand dollars.”

“That is not a large sum. There ought to be no difficulty.”

“You think so!” she cried, eagerly.

“Well, it depends. The income your mother left you—if it is not in any way mortgaged—should give ample security.”

“My mother left me no income.”

“I beg your pardon?” queried the old man, curtly, as if he doubted his hearing.

“My income is pitifully small, Mr. Jevons—only four thousand a year, which my father allows me, and he makes a favor of that, often withholding it, and plunging me into debt.”

Mr. Jevons looked incredulous. “Four thousand a year. Did you see your mother’s will, Mrs. Swinton?”

“No. Did she make a will?”

“Yes, of course. I drew it up for her. You were 290 only a girl then, I remember. You were away in Europe, in a convent, were you not, when your mother died?”

“Yes, and father wouldn’t allow me to come home.”

“Under that will, your mother left you something more than twenty thousand a year.”

“Mr. Jevons, you are thinking of someone else. You have so many clients you are mixing them up. My father, who is little better than a miser, absorbed the whole of my mother’s income at her death.”

“Impossible! Impossible! Your mother left you considerably more than half-a-million dollars. It was because of a dispute over the sum that I withdrew from your father’s affairs. I was his lawyer once, you remember. A difficult man—a difficult man. You don’t mean to tell me that you have received from your father only four thousand a year? It’s incredible. It’s illegal.”

Mrs. Swinton laid her hand upon her heart, to still the throbbing set up by this startling turn of affairs.

“But, when you were married, what was your husband thinking of not to see your mother’s will, and get proper settlements?”

“My husband has no head for money-affairs. It was a love match. We eloped, and father never forgave us.” 291

Mr. Jevons gave vent to his anger in little, jerky exclamations of amazement.

“Mrs. Swinton, I ought to tell you that I always disapproved of your father’s management of your mother’s affairs—and his own. It was on this very question of your mother’s money that I split with him. He insulted me, put obstacles in the way of my transacting his legal business, and I had no option but to withdraw. There was a clause in your mother’s will which stipulated that your income should be paid to you quarterly, or at other intervals of time, according to your father’s discretion. He chose to read that to mean that he could pay you money at discretion in small or large sums, as he thought fit. You were a mere child at the time, and your father was your natural guardian. I always suspected him of having some designs upon that money, for he bitterly resented the idea of a girl having an income at all. He was peculiar in money matters—I will not say grasping.”

“He was a thief—is a thief!” cried Mrs. Swinton, breathing heavily, her eyes flashing with excitement. “Go on.”

“I withdrew altogether from your father’s affairs. I was busy, and had other matters to attend to. I naturally thought that your husband’s lawyers would take over the management of your affairs, and any 292 discrepancies due to the er—eccentricities of your father would be set right. But it appears that you have never questioned your father’s discretion.”

“I have questioned it again and again, and was always told that I was a pauper, that my mother’s money belonged to him. Oh, if I had only known! What misery it would have prevented! It would have saved my son from ruin—”

“Your son!”

“Yes, I have a boy and a girl, both thinking of marriage, both crippled by the want of money. I must have seven thousand dollars this very day.”

“I think it can be managed, Mrs. Swinton. I will see my partner about it, and probably let you have a check.”

Mr. Jevons went fully into her affairs for nearly an hour. Then, he handed her a newspaper, and left the room. She flung down the journal, and started to her feet.

Twenty thousand a year! More than half-a-million dollars withheld from her for twenty-five years by a grasping, unnatural father. It was like a wonderful dream. The revelation opened up a prospect of unlimited joy.

In a few minutes, Mr. Jevons returned with a signed check for the amount required. He placed it in his client’s hand, with a solemn bow. Mrs. 293 Swinton, too much moved to utter thanks, folded the check, and slipped it into the purse in her muff.

“Mr. Jevons, what am I to do about the—other money?”

“I’ve just been thinking of that. I mentioned it to my partner. If you wish us to act for you, I will bring pressure upon your father to have it restored at once. There is not the smallest flaw in the will. We must bring pressure.”

“Undoubtedly—every pressure that the law will allow. Expose him. Shame him. Humiliate him. Prosecute him, if need be.”

“It is certainly a flagrant instance of the abuse of parental authority. But a suit is quite unnecessary. Your father must hand over to you the half-million, plus compound-interest for twenty-five years—an enormous sum! There can be no possible question of your right to the money. If you wish us to advance anything more—seven thousand dollars is a very small sum—we shall be most happy.”

“I cannot believe it all yet, Mr. Jevons. I am so accustomed to penury and debt that it sounds like a fairy story. There is one other matter I wish to speak to you about. My son—my son is in trouble. Two checks, signed by my father, for small amounts were altered to larger ones, and cashed at our local bank. The amount in dispute came to 294 seven thousand dollars, and my father declines to be responsible, and wants to force the bank to lose the money. That is why I wanted this check. If I pay them back with this money, the affair will be ended, and nothing more can be said about it. That is so?”

“Dear, dear! Raising checks!”

“Yes—it was wrong. But it was all my father’s fault. He refused to give me money when—but that’s nothing to do with it. I want you to tell me it will be all right when the money is paid.”

“It depends entirely on the bank. Surely, your father will hush the matter up.”

“No, he wishes us to be disgraced—ruined—just because my husband is a clergyman, and I married contrary to his wishes. He never forgives.”

“But that was so many years ago! Surely, he won’t question the checks.”

“He has done so—and a warrant is out for my son’s arrest.”

“Dear, dear—that is very serious. I should take the money to the bank, and see what they can do. If the police have knowledge of the felony, they may take action on their own account, but these things can often be hushed up. I should advise you to see the responsible person at the bank. Do you know him?”

“Oh, yes, he’s a friend—at least I’m afraid he’s not much of a friend to my son.”

“Well, it’s a matter where a solicitor had better 295 not interfere. The fewer people who have cognizance of the fact that the law has been broken, the better.”

“I’ll do as you advise. I’ll see Mr. Ormsby to-day. You are quite sure, Mr. Jevons, that you’ve made no mistake about my mother’s money. Oh, it’s too wonderful—too amazing!”

“I am quite sure. I went thoroughly into the matter at the time, and it will give me the greatest pleasure to act for you against Mr. Herresford. If it should come to a suit, there can only be one issue.”

“I will see father myself,” observed Mrs. Swinton, with her teeth set and an ugly light in her eyes. “Mr. Jevons, you will come down to-morrow to see us, or next day?”

“To-morrow, at your pleasure. I’ll bring a copy of the will, and prepare an exact calculation of the amount of your claim. Good-morning, Mrs. Swinton. I am pleased to have brought the color back to your cheeks. You looked very pale when you came in.”

“It’s the forgery—the dreadful business at the bank that frightens me.”

“Do your best alone. I am sure your power of persuasion cannot fail to melt the hardest heart,” the lawyer protested, with his most courtly air.

“The circumstances are peculiar. But I will try.”

Mrs. Swinton reËntered her cab with a strange 296 mixture of emotions. As she drove through the crowded thoroughfares, her feelings were divided between indignant rage against her father and joy at the thought of John Swinton’s troubles ended, the luxury and independence of the future, Netty no longer a dowerless bride, Dick a man of wealth without dependence upon his grandfather.

It is astonishing how soon one gets accustomed to a sudden change of fortune. The novelty of the situation had worn off by the time the home journey was finished. She was again in the grip of overwhelming fear. The horrible dread of a prosecution stood like a spectre in her path.

On her arrival at the bank, she found the doors closed; but she rang the bell so insistently that, at last, a porter appeared. And she even persuaded that grim person to violate all rules, and take her card to Vivian Ormsby, who was conferring with Mr. Barnby. In the end, she triumphed, and was admitted to the banker’s private room.