“I am only human, you know,” she went on. “Every one told me that Wenham was a millionaire, too. See how much I have benefited by it. I am almost penniless, I do not know whether he is dead or alive, I do not know what to do to get some money. Was Wenham very rich, Jerry?”
The man laughed.
“Oh, he was very rich indeed!” he assured her. “It is terrible that you should be left like this. We will talk about it together presently, you and I. In the meantime, you must let me be your banker.”
“Dear Jerry,” she whispered, “you were always generous.”
“You have not spoken of the little prude—dear Miss Beatrice,” he reminded her suddenly.
Elizabeth sighed.
“Beatrice was a great trial from the first,” she declared. “You know how she disliked you both—she was scarcely even civil to Wenham, and she would never have come to Europe with us if father hadn't insisted upon it. We took her down to Cornwall with us and there she became absolutely insupportable. She was always interfering between Wenham and me and imagining the most absurd things. One day she left us without a word of warning. I have never seen her since.”
The man stared gloomily into his plate.
“She was a queer little thing,” he muttered. “She was good, and she seemed to like being good.”
Elizabeth laughed, not quite pleasantly.