“Now, my dear young lady,” said Mr Gray; “now, my dear, good Miss Rosamund, let me ask you if you are doing right in flinging the gifts of Providence from you?”
“I am doing perfectly right,” I retorted with spirit.
“Pardon me, please do pardon me; youth is so impulsive and hot-headed; youth is so assertive, so positive, it must be guided by age—it simply must. Now, Miss Rosamund, will you sit down in this easy-chair? Will you sit perfectly still, and allow me to speak for three or four minutes?”
“Yes, you may certainly do that,” I replied.
“Take this chair, then; lean back in it. It is known to have the most soothing effect imaginable on irritable nerves.”
“Thank you very much; but my nerves are not irritable, and I prefer to stand.”
“Good heavens! Rosamund Lindley’s nerves not irritable. Rosamund, who is all fire and impatience; all quicksilver; the most sensitive, the most nervous of mortals.”
“Oh, please, please, Mr Gray, don’t discuss me. If you have anything to say, please say it quickly.”
Mr Gray was not a lawyer for nothing. He saw he had gone too far; his manner altered—he became business-like, grave, polite, and as a matter of course, persuasive.
“You have been left this money, Miss Lindley,” he said, “on, I grant you, very peculiar conditions.”