Lecount's claims on him of his own accord.
"I would rather not talk of any will but the will I am making now," he
said uneasily. "The first thing, Lecount--" He hesitated--put the bare
end of the quill into his mouth--gnawed at it thoughtfully--and said no
more.
"Yes, sir?" persisted Mrs. Lecount.
"The first thing is--"
"Yes, sir?"
"The first thing is, to--to make some provision for You?"
He spoke the last words in a tone of plaintive interrogation--as if all
hope of being met by a magnanimous refusal had not deserted him even
yet. Mrs. Lecount enlightened his mind on this point, without a moment's
loss of time.
"Thank you, Mr. Noel," she said, with the tone and manner of a woman who
was not acknowledging a favor, but receiving a right.
He took another bite at the quill. The perspiration began to appear on
his face.
"The difficulty is," he remarked, "to say how much."
"Your lamented father, sir," rejoined Mrs. Lecount, "met that difficulty
(if you remember) at the time of his last illness?"
"I don't remember," said Noel Vanstone, doggedly.
"You were on one side of his bed, sir, and I was on the other. We were
vainly trying to persuade him to make his will.
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