"I have asked him to, but he won't!" Eunice said, looking now extremely grave.
Her gravity indeed was so great that it made me smile. "He is wonderfully generous!"
"He is indeed."
"And is it to be indefinitely delayed—the termination of his trust?"
"Oh, no; only a few months, 'till he gets things into shape,' as he says."
"He has had several years for that, has n't he?"
Eunice turned away; evidently our talk was painful to her. But there was something that vaguely alarmed me in her taking, or at least accepting, the sentimental view of Mr. Caliph's services. "I don't think you are kind, Catherine; you seem to suspect him," she remarked, after a little.
"Suspect him of what?"
"Of not wishing to give up the property."
"My dear Eunice, you put things into terrible words! Seriously, I should never think of suspecting him of anything so silly. What could his wishes count for? Is not the thing regulated by law by the terms of your mother's will? The trust expires of itself at a certain period, does n't it? Mr. Caliph, surely, has only to act accordingly."
"It is just what he is doing. But there are more papers necessary, and they will not be ready for a few weeks more."
"Don't have too many papers; they are as bad as too few. And take advice of some one else—say of
