“I was fourteen,” she answered, “and Florence was thirteen.”
“Precisely; you were two little girls: you were relationless.”
“So I have always been told,” said Brenda.
“Your father left a will behind him. He always appeared to you to be a rich man, did he not?”
“I suppose so,” said Brenda. “I never thought about it.”
“Nor did I,” said Florence, speaking for the first time.
“Well, he was not rich. He lived up to his income. He earned a considerable amount as a writer.”
“I was very proud of him,” said Brenda.
“When he died,” continued Mr Timmins, taking no notice of this remark—“you know your mother died first—but when he died he left a will, giving explicit directions that all his debts were to be paid in full. There were not many, but there were some. The remainder of the money was to be spent on the education of you two girls. I assure you, my dears, there was not much; but I have brought the accounts with me for you to see the exact amount realisable from his estate and precisely how I spent it. I found Mrs Fortescue willing to give you a home in the holidays, and I arranged with her that you were to go to her for so much a week. I chose, by your father’s directions, the very best possible school to send you to, a school where you would only meet with ladies, and where you would be educated as thoroughly as possible. You were to stay on at school and with Mrs Fortescue until the last hundred pounds of your money was reached. Then you were to be told the truth: that you were to face the world. After your fees for your last term’s schooling have been met and Mrs Fortescue has been paid for your Christmas holidays, there will be precisely eighty pounds in the bank to your credit. That money I think you ought to save for a nest-egg. That is all you possess. Your father’s idea was that you would live more happily and work more contentedly if you were allowed to grow up to the period of adolescence without knowing the cares and sorrows of the world. He may have been wrong; doubtless he was; anyhow, there was nothing whatever for me to do but to obey the will. I came down myself to tell you. You will have the Christmas holidays in which to prepare yourselves for the battle of life. You can tell Mrs Fortescue or not, as you please. She has learned nothing from me. I think that is about all, except—”
“Yes?” said Florence, speaking for the first time—“except what?”