Inheritance and succession -- Fiction; Scotland -- Fiction
He had struck the wrong chord. To Marrion, absorbed in the one
enthralling question as to whether Marmaduke had known of this
survival or whether he had not, the suggestion that she was the sole
arbiter came as a shock.
"We agreed," she said slowly, "to annul the marriage. He thought--I
know he thought--this paper had been burnt; and it doesn't make any
difference to our intention that it wasn't. And then we promised, we
both promised your father no claim should ever be made. Because Duke
is dead is that any reason----"
She rose suddenly, walked to the fireplace, and threw the envelope and
its contents on the fire.
"That is what Duke meant," she muttered to herself helplessly.
Peter Muir watched her with a half-cynical, half-admiring smile.
"Well, you know best, my dear. And, of course, I personally would
never let you come to want." The capable woman looked at him, the
incapable man, with wondering tolerance. "Still, I must say I am
disappointed. I should like to have seen the governor's face when you
sprang it upon him. Remember he is the villain of the piece and, as I
said, deserves everything he can get."
"That may be," replied Marrion, "but can't you see we were all at
fault? And we have to pay for it. We must--you can't get rid of the
past."
She said the words over and over to herself, and it was not till she
reached her lodgings that she realised fully that the past had claimed
the future. Yet what else could she have done? If she had only known
what Duke would have said! Had he found out the paper, or had he not?
Was that the reason why in those short ten days of heaven he had
never, never, never alluded to the past? And yet that heavenly present
had become the past too, and had stretched out into the future. Had
she been taken by surprise? Had she made another mistake?
She threw herself on her bed and cried quite foolishly, until
perforce, being physically unable to cry any more, her mind reasserted
itself and thought came again.
One thing seemed clear. She could not possibly tell what Duke knew or
did not know; she could not be sure what he would have thought; and
she would have no more of trying to impose her views on him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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