“I’d rather work my own way, auntie. It would be intolerable to owe them anything,” said William Maubray.
“I don’t say Winston, but Sir Richard—he can be of the most immense use to you, and without placing you or me under the slightest obligation.”
This seemed one of Aunt Dinah’s paradoxes, or of her scampish table’s promises, and made a commensurate impression on William’s mind.
“You saw Doctor Wagget here yesterday?”
“I know—yes—the old clergyman, isn’t he, who paid you a visit?”
“Just so: he is a very old friend—very—and thinks it a most desirable arrangement.”
“What arrangement?”
“You shall see,” interrupted Aunt Dinah. “One moment’s patience. I must first show you—a paper to read.” She walked over to a little japanned cabinet, and as she fumbled at the lock, continued, “And when you—when you have read it—you—ah! that’s it—when you have read it, I’ll tell you exactly what I mean.”
So saying she presented a large official-looking envelope to William, who found that it contained a letter and a paper, headed “Extract from the will and testament of the late Sir Nathaniel Maubray, of Queen’s Maubray, bearing date ⸺, and proved, &c., on ⸺, 1831.”