"Hasn't your mother told you?" Mrs. Whitney shook her head, and answered for Kathleen. "Winslow said not to mention the matter to Kathleen yesterday, and today his illness put everything out of my mind," she explained. Kathleen looked from one to the other. "What have I to do with his will?" she repeated. "Sinclair Spencer made you residuary legatee." "What!" Kathleen sat up, for the moment bereft of further speech. "I shan't take any legacy left me by him," she announced, passionately. "Mother, you hear me, _I won't_." "Yes, yes, dear," soothingly, and Senator Foster broke in hastily: "We understand how you must feel." "Feel!" echoed Kathleen. "Did you for one moment suppose I would accept a penny from Sinclair Spencer or his estate?" and the scorn in her eyes hurt Foster as she looked at him. "The law requires certain formalities," he said hurriedly. "As executor, I shall have to talk over his will with you, but later will do." "Both now and later, I flatly refuse to consider any such bequest he may have made me," went on Kathleen, unheeding his words as her excitement increased, and Miss Kiametia hastened to avert the threatened scene. "Where were you yesterday afternoon, Randall?" she asked. "In Baltimore." Foster flashed her a grateful glance. "I hope you made use of my car yesterday, Mrs. Whitney; I told Henry to take it out until yours was repaired." "You were very kind; Winslow went out in it." Mrs. Whitney's glance strayed to the door; she was anxious to return to her husband's bedside. "And with your permission, Randall, I'm going to use your car now to take me home," chipped in Miss Kiametia. "Oh, Kiametia, you must not go," protested Mrs. Whitney. "You are such a comfort--such a help...." "Don't go," added Kathleen. "Your presence makes my enforced idleness here easier to bear." "Thank you, my dears." The spinster looked immensely pleased. "Of course I'll stay, if you really feel you want me." "I am the only one bereft," said Foster wistfully. "I cannot call upon you tonight, Kiametia." "Of course you can," exclaimed Mrs. Whitney, smiling faintly. "We are not so selfish as to keep Kiametia to ourselves all the time. If you will excuse me, I must go back to Winslow." "Certainly." Foster rose and opened the door for her. "I must not stop longer. Good night, Miss Kathleen, I hope that you will feel better in the morning." "Thanks; please come here just a moment," and reluctantly Foster approached the bed. He did not wish to resume discussion about Spencer's will. "Tell me," Kathleen lowered her voice, "when will the Grand Jury meet?" "Not for ten days or more." "That is all, thanks," and Foster moved away. At the door he signaled to Miss Kiametia to step into the hall with him, and after a quick glance at Kathleen's averted face, the spinster followed him, softly closing the door behind her.