“I expect you have done so already.”
“He does not attend to me as he does to you.”
“He might do so, however, if you would be more sparing of your homilies.”
John shrugged and said no more for a few moments. When he spoke again it was on another subject. “Who is this female to whom you married Cheviot?” he asked.
“She is a daughter of Tom Rochdale of Feldenhall.”
“That man! Good God! Then that is how she comes to be a governess! Poor thing! But what is now to become of her?”
“Well, I do not as yet know how Cheviot’s affairs may stand, but I dare say something may be saved from the wreck. He made his will in her favor.”
“Made his will in her favor?” John repeated incredulously. “Ned, was that his doing, or yours?”
“Mine, of course.”
“Well,” John said dubiously, “I suppose some compensation had to be made her, and, to be sure, I was never in favor of its coming out of your pocket. But ought not the estate to have gone to the next of kin?”