"You say that she died at the time of your birth. I wish
you could bring me proof of this and that you are her daughter; but of
course your mere assertion proves nothing, nor your possession of this
picture, which may or may not be her. Believe me, I should be very glad
to surrender this property to you if it rightly belongs to you."
"Of course I should like to have it, if I am the legal heir," Mona said,
thoughtfully; "but," with a proud uplifting of her pretty head, "I can do
without it, for I am able to earn my own living."
"Is there no one to whom you can appeal? How about Mr. Dinsmore's wife,
who succeeded in getting all his property away from you--could she prove
anything?" and Mr. Corbin regarded his companion with curious interest as
he asked the question.
"I do not know--I have never even seen her," said Mona, thoughtfully;
"or, at least, if I have, it must have been when I was too young to
remember anything about her; besides, I should not know where to find
her. There is only one person in the world, I believe, who really knows
anything about me."
"And who is that?" interposed Mr. Corbin, eagerly.
"Mrs. Richmond Montague, my father's second wife."
Mr. Corbin suddenly arose from his chair, and began to pace the floor,
while, if she had been watching him closely, Mona might have seen that
his face was deeply-flushed.
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