"There were the grandsons, of course."
"Yes; I thought she would leave most of it to them. It's a pity she didn't, poor dear. Then there wouldn't have been all this dreadful bother."
"People so often seem to lose their heads when they make wills. So you were a sort of dark horse at that time. H'm. Did this precious Penberthy ask you to marry him?"
"I thought he did. But he says he didn't. We talked about founding his clinic; I was to help him."
"And that was when you chucked painting for books about medicine and first-aid classes. Did your aunt know about the engagement?"
"He didn't want her told. It was to be our secret, till he got a better position. He was afraid she might think he was after the money."
"I daresay he was."
"He made out he was fond of me," she said, miserably.
"Of course, my dear child; your case is not unique. Didn't you tell any of your friends?"
"No." Wimsey reflected that the Ledbury episode had probably left a scar. Besides—did women tell things to other women? He had long doubted it.