Dead silence followed. Nigel was motionless, leaning against the mantelpiece, his lips compressed, his whole face so grieved that she could not help the spring of a faint hope. What if, after all, she were mistaken? "I do not understand," he said, for the third time. "There must be a cause. Either you have grown tired of me, or something has vexed you. Not—surely!—poor Mr. Carden-Cox's will? That would not be like you. Of course my share is entirely yours—would be, I mean, if—" and he hesitated. "Until this moment I have supposed that money coming to you and to me meant the same thing." It was Fulvia's turn to look bewildered. "Uncle Arthur's will!" she said. "Has he made a new one? He did talk of it, and I begged him not; but why should I mind?" "Then they have not told you?" "No one has told me anything. I have scarcely heard his name mentioned. It has seemed strange—sometimes." Nigel was silent, and she cast an anxious glance. "Is something wrong? Has anything happened? I have a right to know, surely. It will not hurt me now." "You were not told before I left; but I fancied that by this time—I ought to have asked first—" "Tell me now. What is it?" "He was taken suddenly." "Uncle Arthur dead?" Nigel made a sound of assent, and Fulvia's eyes filled with tears. She was almost glad to have something about which she might lawfully show sorrow. "Poor uncle! How sad! And not long ill, you say?" "No; it was an acute attack. I saw him the evening before, seemingly well, but distressed about you. The next day he was gone." "Poor uncle!" sighed Fulvia. Yet her mind at once reverted to the present question, the present pain, which dwarfed all lesser troubles. Nigel thought that her pensive look meant grief for Mr. Carden-Cox. His own attention was very much divided. He could not for a moment forget Fulvia's words of greeting; and after all, however kind to them, Mr. Carden-Cox was not a man to win great love. "Strange,—the last time he saw me, he talked of making a new will," Fulvia remarked dreamily, forgetting that she had said the same before. "And I never went to see him again. I wish I had gone." "The new will was not finished." "So much the better." "It will come to the same thing." "No; the old will left half to you. I am glad it is so." "Half the income—not half the personal effects. The house and all it contains will be yours." "Was his income—? How much was it?" "Over a thousand a year. No one supposed him to have that amount. Of course you have—would have a right to the whole." "Certainly not. You will keep your five hundred a year, and I shall keep mine: enough, and more than enough, for me." A rap sounded at the door, and Daisy's voice cried: "Aren't you both coming? We want you." Nigel went to the door, and opened it. "No, not yet," he said. "Pray leave us quiet." Daisy fled. And Nigel came back, to ask once more— "Fulvia, what did you mean just now?"