“It was a very curious will,” I said after a pause; “very eccentric.”
“Geoffrey was always eccentric, Rose, I’ve told you so scores of times.”
“I wish I knew who was the heir,” I repeated, getting up restlessly and standing by the fire. “Mother, have you any messages for me to do in town to-morrow?”
“In town? Surely, Rosamund, you are not going up to London so soon again. You have got no money; how can you pay your fare?”
“Yes, I have half-a-sovereign from my last allowance.”
“Oh, but that is extravagance.”
“I can’t help it, mother. I must go to a jeweller to ask him to value the ring. Oh, no, I shan’t sell it, but I cannot rest until I know its value.”
My mother looked vexed, but she knew it was useless to argue with me when I had fully made up my mind.
“I do not know what girls are made of in these days,” she remarked in a plaintive voice. “They are quite a different order of being from the girl of eighteen whom I used to know, when I was young. They are obstinate, and are quite sure to tell their elders every hour of the day that they know a great deal more about the ways and doings of life than they do, that they are quite capable of guiding their own actions.”
“Mother, you are not angry?” I said suddenly. “Oh no, dear,” she replied at once.