“No, I don't. I know I said I wouldn't touch it, but I've changed my mind.”
“You've plenty of time to change it again before you're twenty-five,” said Randall.
“Yes, but that's the whole point. I —” She broke off, for Benson had come back into the room with the sherry. When he had set the tray on the table and gone away again, she took a firm grip on her handbag, and said: “What I want to know is this: if I—if I signed a paper saying I wouldn't marry Deryk Fielding, ever, could I possibly have the money now?”
Randall paused in the act of pouring out the sherry, and raised his head. “Don't tell me you've quarrelled with the boy friend?” he said.
“No, we haven't quarrelled, but I've decided not to marry him, that's all,” replied Stella curtly.
Randall went on pouring out the sherry. “I expect you would rather I didn't ask you why,” he remarked. “But you can't have everything you want, my pet. Why have you come to this momentous decision?”
“Various reasons. For one thing I find I'm—not really—in love with him.”
“And for another you've discovered that he isn't really in love with you. It's nice to see glimmerings of intelligence in you, darling.”
“You're perfectly right,” said Stella, keeping her voice rigidly under control. “He thought I was going to inherit a lot of money, and when I didn't he cooled off. Have a good laugh: I don't mind. I think it's rather funny myself. Anyway, I'm not breaking my heart over it.”
“Why should you?” said Randall, handing her a glass. “Are you expecting me to ooze sympathy?”