the will. I was looking at you. You knew damn well what was coming."
"I didn't!" shouted Finch. "I didn't know a thing about it!"
"Stay!" said Nicholas. "Don't get blustery, Piers. I want to untwist this tangle, if possible." His eyes, under his shaggy brows, pierced Finch. "You say you were as astonished as the rest of us by the will. Just tell us, please, what in your opinion was my mother's reason for making you her heir."
Finch twisted his hands between his knees. He wished some tidal wave might rise and sweep him from their sight.
"Yes," urged Ernest, "tell us why you think she did such a thing. We are not angry at you. We only want to find out whether there was any reason for such an extraordinary act."
"I don't know of any reason," stammered Finch. "I—I wish she hadn't!"
He did himself no good by this admission. The words coming from his mouth, drawn in misery, made him the more contemptible.
Nicholas turned to Augusta. "What was that about Mama's talking to herself? Something about a Chinese goddess."
Augusta laid down her crochet work. "I couldn't make it out. Just some mumbled words about Finch and the goddess Kuan Yin. It was then she said that he had more—you know what. I prefer not to repeat it."
"Now, what about this Chinese goddess, Finch? Do you know what my mother meant by coupling your name with such a strange one?"
"I don't see why she should have," he hedged, weakly.
"Did she at any time mention a Chinese goddess to you?"
"Yes." He was floundering desperately. "She said I might learn—she—that is, she said I might get to understand something of life from her."
"From her?"
