No will! Nothing but the draft of a scheme to leave everything to Tecumseh--there's your Hiram's work, Ellen!" Adelaide's gentle pressure on her mother's arm was unnecessary; it was too evident that Matilda, beside herself, could not be held responsible for anything she said.

There was no pretense, no "oversoul" in her emotion now.

She was as different from the Matilda of the luncheon table as the swollen and guttered face of woe in real life is different from the graceful tragedy of the stage.
"No will; what of it ?" said Ellen gently.

"It won't make the least difference.

There's just you and the children." Adelaide, with clearer knowledge of certain dark phases of human nature and of the Whitney family, hastily interposed.