Edwin’s lips curled.
“How do they know he hasn’t made it?”
“Has he made it?”
“How do I know? You don’t suppose he ever talks to me about his affairs, do you? Not much!”
“Well—they meant he ought to be asked.”
“Well, let ’em ask him, then. I shan’t.”
“Of course what they say is—you’re the—”
“What do I care for that?” he interrupted her. “So that’s what you were yarning so long about in your room!”
“I can tell you,” said Maggie, “they’re both of them very serious about it. So’s Albert, it seems.”
“They disgust me,” he said briefly. “Here the thing isn’t a day old, and they begin worrying about his will! They go slobbering all over him downstairs, and upstairs it’s nothing but his will they think about... You can’t rush at a man and talk to him about his will like that. At least, I can’t—it’s altogether too thick! I expect some people could. But I can’t. Damn it, you must have some sense of decency!”