"I have over five hundred a year," says Luttrell, coloring, and feeling as if he had said fifty and was going to be called presumptuous. He also feels that John has by some sudden means become very many years older than he really is.
"That includes everything?"
"Everything. When my uncle—Maxwell Luttrell—hops the—that is, drops off—I mean dies," says Luttrell whose slang is extensive and rather confusing, "I shall come in for five thousand pounds more."
"How can you speak in such a cold-blooded way of your uncle's death?" says Molly, who is not so much impressed by the occasion as she should be.
"Why not? There is no love lost between us. If he could leave it away from me he would; but that is out of his power."
"That makes it seven hundred," says Letitia, softly, à propos of the income.
"Nearer eight," says he, brightening at her tone.
"Molly, you wish to marry Tedcastle?" John asks his sister, gazing at her earnestly.
"Ye—es; but I'm not in a hurry, you know," replies she, with a little nod.
Massereene regards her curiously for a moment or two; then he says: