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Somewhat of this idea was conveyed, I fear not quite as sentimentally, to Peggy Moffat herself. The best legal wisdom of San Francisco, retained by the widow and relatives, took occasion, in a private interview with Peggy, to point out that she stood in the quasi-criminal attitude of having unlawfully practised upon the affections of an insane elderly gentleman, with a view of getting possession of his property, and suggested to her that no vestige of her moral character would remain after the trial, if she persisted in forcing her claims to that issue. It is said that Peggy, on hearing this, stopped washing the plate she had in her hands, and, twisting the towel around her fingers, fixed her small pale blue eyes at the lawyer.

“And ez that the kind o’ chirpin these critters keep up?”

“I regret to say, my dear young lady,” responded the lawyer, “that the world is censorious. I must add,” he continued, with engaging frankness, “that we professional lawyers are apt to study the opinion of the world, and that such will be the theory of–our side.”

“Then,” said Peggy stoutly, “ez I allow I’ve got to go into court to defend my character, I might as well pack in them three millions too.”

There is hearsay evidence that Peg added to this speech a wish and desire to “bust the crust” of her traducers, and, remarking that “that was the kind of hairpin” she was, closed the conversation with an unfortunate accident to the plate, that left a severe contusion on the legal brow of her companion. But this story, popular in the bar-rooms and gulches, lacked confirmation in higher circles. Better authenticated was the legend related of an interview with her own lawyer. That gentleman had pointed out to her the advantage of being able to show some reasonable cause for the singular generosity of the testator.

“Although,” he continued, “the law does not go back of the will for reason or cause for its provisions, it would be a strong point with the judge and jury–particularly if the theory of insanity were set up–for us to show that the act was logical and natural. Of course you have–I speak confidently, Miss Moffat–certain ideas of your own why the late Mr. Byways was so singularly generous to you.”

“No, I haven’t,” said Peg decidedly.

“Think again. Had he not expressed to you–you understand that this is confidential between us, although I protest, my dear young lady, that I see no reason why it should not be made public–had he not given utterance to sentiments of a nature consistent with some future matrimonial relations?” But here Miss Peg’s large mouth, which had been slowly relaxing over her irregular teeth, stopped him.

“If you mean he wanted to marry me–No!”

“I see. But were there any conditions–of course you know the law takes no cognizance of any not expressed in the will; but still, for the sake of mere corroboration of the bequest–do you know of any conditions on which he gave you the property?”

“You mean did he want anything in return?”

“Exactly, my dear young lady.”

Peg’s face on one side turned a deep magenta color, on the other a lighter cherry, while her nose was purple, and her forehead an Indian red. To add to the effect of this awkward and discomposing dramatic exhibition of embarrassment, she began to wipe her hands on her dress, and sat silent.

“I understand,” said the lawyer hastily. “No matter–the conditions WERE fulfilled.”

“No!” said Peg amazedly. “How could they be until he was dead?”

It was the lawyer’s turn to color and grow embarrassed.

“He DID say something, and make some conditions,” continued Peg, with a certain firmness through her awkwardness; “but that’s nobody’s business but mine and his’n. And it’s no call o’ yours or theirs.”

“But, my dear Miss Moffat, if these very conditions were proofs of his right mind, you surely would not object to make them known, if only to enable you to put yourself in a condition to carry them out.”