"Your father liked me particularly well. A year ago he drew up a will giving me all his property and cutting you off without a cent. He gave me the will to keep for him." "Fine!" was Calumet's dryly sarcastic comment. "But I destroyed the will," went on the girl. Calumet's expression changed to surprised wonder, then to mockery. "You're locoed!" he declared. "Why didn't you take the property?" "I didn't want it; it was yours." Calumet forgot to sneer; his wonder and astonishment over the girl's ability to resist such a temptation were so great as to shock him to silence. She and her grandfather were dependants, abroad without means of support, and yet the girl had refused a legacy which she and her relative had undoubtedly earned. Such sturdy honesty surprised him, mystified him, and he was convinced that there must have been some other motive behind her refusal to become his father's beneficiary. He watched her closely for a moment and then, thinking he had discovered the motive, he said in a voice of dry mockery: "I reckon you didn't take it because there was nothin' to take." "Besides the land and the buildings, he left about twenty thousand dollars in cash," she informed him quietly. "Where is it?" demanded Calumet quickly. Betty smiled. "That," she said dryly, "is what I want to talk to you about." Again the consciousness of advantage shone in her eyes. Calumet felt that it would be useless to question her and so he leaned back in his chair and regarded her saturninely. "Soon after your father became afflicted with his last sickness," continued Betty; "he called me to him and took me into his confidence. He talked to me about you--about the way he had treated you. Both he and your mother had been, he said, victims of uncontrollable tempers, and were beset with elemental passions which he was certain had descended to you. In fact, because of the hatred your mother bore you--" She hesitated. "Well, that too, belongs to the story which you will hear about Taggart when you have the patience," she continued. "But your father repented; he saw the injustice he had done you and wanted to repair it. He was certain, though, that this curse of temper was deep-seated in you and he wanted to drive it out. He felt that when you finally came home you would need reforming, and he did not want you to profit by his money until you forgave him. He had strange notions regarding your reformation; he declared he would not take your word for it, but would insist on a practical demonstration. When he had fully explained his ideas on the subject he made me swear that I would carry them out." She paused and looked at Calumet and he saw that the expression of advantage that had been in her eyes all along was no longer a subtle expression, but plain and unmistakable.