“And, as you know, Olivia, the money has been kept in a way so that the principal could never be spent. Sybil’s grandchildren will be able to touch some of it ... that is, if you are unwise enough to leave it to them that way.”
Olivia looked up suddenly. “But why me? What have I to do with it?”
“That’s what I’m coming to, Olivia dear.... It’s because I’m leaving control of the whole fortune to you.”
Suddenly, fiercely, she wanted none of it. She had a quick, passionate desire to seize all the neatly piled papers and burn them, to tear them into small bits and fling them out of the window.
“I don’t want it!” she said. “Why should you leave it to me? I’m rich myself. I don’t want it! I’m not a Pentland.... It’s not my money. I’ve nothing to do with it.” In spite of herself, there was a note of passionate resentment in her voice.
The shaggy brows raised faintly in a look of surprise.
“To whom, if not to you?” he asked.
After a moment, she said, “Why, Anson ... to Anson, I suppose.”
“You don’t really think that?”
“It’s his money ... Pentland money ... not mine. I’ve all the money I need and more.”