“Not at all.”
Serge waited and hoped for more to come, but nothing did. Francis was in his most taciturn mood; he kept humming and buzzing to himself like a great bee, and fingering the amethyst cross on his waistcoat. Serge took another plunge.
“How much is this living worth?”
“Three hundred.”
“How much was St. Withans worth?”
“Six-fifty.”
Serge made no comment. Presently he asked:
“Did you know what you were coming to?”
“Perfectly.”
“Did my mother?”