The girls looked at him, but neither spoke.
“Do you know,” he pursued, apparently addressing himself to both, “how your grandmother had arranged her affairs?”
“No,” said Rhoda and Phoebe together.
“Humph! Pity! Been a good deal better for you, my dear young gentlewoman, if she had lived another four-and-twenty hours.”
Neither said “Which?” for both thought they knew.
“Poor Phoebe!” said Rhoda, pressing her hand. “But never mind, dear; I’ll give it you, just right, what she meant you to have. We’ll see about it before I’m married. Oh dear!—that will have to be put off, I suppose.”
“You are going to be married?” asked the lawyer.
“Yes,” said Rhoda, bridling.
“Humph!—good thing for you.”
Mr Dawson marched to the window, with his hands in his pockets, and stood there softly whistling for some seconds.