The Gold of Chickaree — Part 121

'It is nothing very new for you to speak in depreciation of me, sir,' said his ward, in her old privileged manner. 'You know you never did think I was good for much.'

'Enough to be worth taking care of,' growled Mr. Falkirk in a tone which bespoke a mingling of feelings.

'Well, sir,—I never was fond of that process—but I have submitted indifferently well, I hope.'

'Allow me to ask, Miss Hazel,—what sort of care do you expect in the future?'

Hazel fairly looked at him and opened her eyes. 'Really, Mr. Falkirk,' she said, 'you are very amazing!'

'You know, I must suppose, that your—_guardian_—has proved himself unfit to take care of your fortune, inasmuch as he has thrown away his own. And when fortune is gone, Miss Kennedy, the means of taking care of you are gone along with it. I warn you, though it may not be in time.'

Wych Hazel's hands took a great grip of each other. It was pretty hard to bear this to-day.

'For the last year and a half, Mr. Falkirk, the care of me—in every respect—has been referred, and referred, and referred, to other judgment than your own. I used to think you were tired of me,— that you had lost your wits— Now, you think I have lost mine.'

'The judgment which I was obliged to consult, and which could not hurt you as long as I remained a consenting party, will have no restraint when my decisions are dispensed with. He can pitch all your thousands after his own, if he thinks proper.'

'Yes, you can do anything with an "if," ' said Hazel, trying to keep herself quiet.

'He will think it proper,' said Mr. Falkirk.

'You must have learned a good deal in three minutes, sir.'

'He is an enthusiast—a fanatic, I should call it; and an enthusiast sees but one object in the universe, and _that_ the object of his enthusiasm. It is all right, to him; but it is all wrong for you.'

It might have been the sheer pressure of excitement, it might have been some idea that the present object of Mr. Rollo's enthusiasm was nearer at hand than Mr. Falkirk thought; but Wych Hazel's sweet laugh rang out. She knew again that the laugh was nervous, but it was uncontrollable none the less.

Mr. Falkirk's countenance changed slightly, as though he had winced with some secret pain; but it did not come out in words, if the feeling existed. He waited till the laugh had died away, and even the stillness spoke of reaction in the mind of the laugher; and then he went on with a quiet unchanged tone,