“And then you’ve got poor Carrie,” he went on, “though HER of course you rather divide with your mother.”
“Will you leave it all to ME?” the girl repeated.
“To say nothing of poor Cashmore,” he pursued, “whom you take ALL, I believe, yourself?”
“Will you leave it all to ME?” she once more repeated.
This time he pulled up, suddenly and expressively wondering. “Are you going to do anything about it at present?—I mean with our friend?”
She appeared to have a scruple of saying, but at last she produced it. “Yes—he doesn’t mind now.”
Mitchy again laughed out. “You ARE, as a family—!” But he had already checked himself. “Mr. Longdon will at any rate, you imply, be somehow interested—”
“In MY interests? Of course—since he has gone so far. You expressed surprise at my wanting to wait and think; but how can I not wait and not think when so much depends on the question—now so definite—of how much further he WILL go?”
“I see,” said Mitchy, profoundly impressed. “And how much does that depend on?”
She had to reflect. “On how much further I, for my part, MUST!”