"Olivia shall. I set my will against yours Mr. Ainsleigh."
"You'll find my will is stronger," said Rupert coolly.
Miss Wharf gave a short laugh. "Try," she said curtly; then her hard eyes softened and her cold manner grew warmer. "Don't let us quarrel," she said gently. "I wish you well, and would give you anything save Olivia--"
"Which is the only thing I want."
"How rude of you to call Olivia a 'thing,'" said the woman lightly, "you may make up your mind that if you marry her, I shall leave my money to Miss Pewsey."
"Do so. I don't want your money."
"Five hundred a year is not enough," sneered Miss Wharf, "but I may have more. What do you say to five thousand--"
"Oh," interrupted Rupert coolly, "so Olivia has told you about the fan--or perhaps Miss Pewsey."
"It was Olivia. I believe Clarence Burgh told her. This fan," Miss Wharf unfurled the article, "means five thousand pounds--"
"Or a cut throat," said Rupert quickly.