“It is not a misunderstanding, Justin,” I said, quietly.

“And I will not tell Mr.

Vance that it was.”

“Helena — ”

“Your father made his choice,” I went on, looking him steadily in the eyes, “three months before he died, sitting in that lawyer’s office, thinking about the kind of man his son had become.

And you made yours, three days ago, in that library, when you handed me four hundred dollars and told me to be off the property by nightfall.