Glendon, just back from one of his numerous trips to town, tossed a
letter to his wife without a word. It fell to the floor, but she reached
for it quickly, her heart beating fast at the thought it might be a
reply from her Aunt Jane.
There had been no further discussion between herself and her husband
about Donnie going away, but she did not know at what hour the ordeal
might face her. Even if Aunt Jane declined to advise her in this matter,
or aid in any way, Katherine wished that the strained relations between
herself and the only one belonging to her by ties of blood, might be
more kindly. She had come to understand Aunt Jane's attitude and to
acknowledge that the old lady had read Glendon's character better than
the girl who married him.
Looking back, Katherine saw all too clearly, that what she had mistaken
for love, had been reaction against the dull monotony of her life with
Ann and Aunt Jane, and a longing for some outlet for her repressed
emotions. This very knowledge made her more staunch in her attitude to
Glendon, fearing that her own lack of deep affection made her more alive
to his shortcomings.
Her husband stood watching her, and she knew that whatever might be the
contents of that letter, he would demand the right to see it. She had no
friends who wrote her. If Aunt Jane mentioned receiving any letter, or
referred to the appeal, Glendon would at once understand that his wife
had written without his knowledge and this very fact would precipitate
the catastrophe she had hoped to avert.
The letter was lying face down between them on the floor. Hiding the
nauseating fear, she picked it up and turned it over. The engraved
address of a firm of lawyers met her eyes. Her name, the ranch, typed.
Puzzled, she tore open the long envelope and started to read. Then she
looked up at Glendon, her eyes full of tears, her lips trembling, as she
said brokenly, "Aunt Jane is dead!"
"Well, what of it?" he demanded. "Do you expect me to howl with grief?
You've not heard from her for years. Can't see that it makes much
difference to you whether she's dead or alive. The old cat!"
Her eyes went back to the pages in her hand. They were typed and
lengthy. She read them through, then, without comment handed them to
Glendon.
"It's a legacy," she said simply.
He sat down and began perusing the contents of the communication, his
brows knitting angrily as he grasped the purport.
_Dear Madam:_
Miss Jane Grimes, whose will has been left in our hands, has made
you and your son, Donald, beneficiaries subject to certain
conditions.
A sufficient sum to educate your son is set aside, all bills to be
rendered to the Trust Company and paid by them. Your desires to be
considered in the selection of proper school, but one which must be
approved by the Trust Company.
Twelve hundred dollars annuity to be paid to you after the death of
your husband, James W. Glendon. Until demise of James W. Glendon,
the twelve hundred dollars per annum and accruing interest shall be
held by the Trust Company.
In event of failure to agree to the terms set forth in the will,
copy of which is herewith enclosed, the entire estate is to revert
to the Prohibition Society of America. Otherwise, the estate will
pass to your son on his thirtieth birthday.
Kindly communicate with us at your earliest convenience, and
oblige, Yours very respectfully,