“So Tom Parsons told uncle. A wonderful thing; and we sat up all night talking about it, Mr. Drake.”
“For God's sake call me 'Jonathan'!” he cried out; “and tell me—tell me what the figure of your legacy was. You must tell me—you can't withhold it. 'Tis life or death—to me.”
She'd never seen him so excited, but very well knowed what was in his mind.
“If you must know, you must,” she answered. “I thought I told you when—when——”
“No, you didn't. I wouldn't bide to hear. Whatever 'twas, you'd got more than me, and that was all I cared about; but now, if by good fortune 'tis less than mine, you understand——”
“Of course 'tis less. A hundred and eighty pound and the interest—a little over two hundred in all—is what I've gotten.”
“Thank God!” he said.
Then he axed her if she could marry him still, or if she knew too much about his ways and his ideas to care about doing so.
And she took him again.