Miss Pewsey coughed. "I don't think he is a very good young man."
"I hate good young men," said Olivia. "Mr. Chris Walker is one of those who never cost his mother a single pang. Why my aunt should wish me to marry such a milksop, I can't understand."
"Well then, why not marry Clarence?" asked the old maid, "he is not a milksop and has cost his mother--poor soul many a pang. And he loves you dearly, Olivia. I should think you would be able to live very nicely on five hundred a year and with this house rent free."
"If I come into possession of the property that is."
"Oh, I am sure you will," said Miss Pewsey effusively. "To whom should dear Sophia leave the money, if not to you, her nearest relative."
"She might have left it to you, for she loved you, while she only tolerated me."
Miss Pewsey threw up her mittened hands with a cry of dismay. "Oh my dear there's no chance of my being so lucky. Sophia was very close about money matters--"
"Surely not with you. Miss Pewsey. She always consulted you in everything. You had great influence over her."
"If so, I made no use of it for my own benefit," said Miss Pewsey with great dignity. "Sophia never consulted me about her wills. I know she made several, and dictated the last just a week before her death. While she was confined to her room with that cold you know, Olivia. I suppose," Miss Pewsey tittered, "I suppose she wanted to be amused."
"I shouldn't think making one's will was amusing," said Olivia dryly, "however, the lawyer will be here this afternoon to read the will, and we shall know if I inherit."