“No, I never will,” returned Lois.
“Well, I suppose if you don't, you'll have money enough to take care of yourself with some time, as far as that goes,” said Flora. Her voice had a sarcastic ring.
“I shall never have one cent of that Maxwell money,” said Lois, with sudden fire. “I'll tell you that much, once for all!” Her eyes fairly gleamed in her delicate, burning face.
“Why, you scare me! What is the matter?” cried Flora.
Lois took a stitch. “Nothing,” said she.
“You'd ought to have the money, of course,” said Flora, in a bewildered way. “Who else would have it?”
“I don't know,” said Lois. “You are the one that ought to have it.”
Flora laughed. “Land, I don't want it!” said she. “George earns plenty for us to live on. She's your own aunt, and of course she'll have to leave it to you, if she does act so miserly with it now. There, I know she's your aunt, Lois, and I don't suppose I ought to speak so, but I can't help it. After all, it don't make much difference, or it needn't, whether you have it or not. I've begun to think money is the very least part of anything in this world, and I want you to be looking out for something else, too, Lois.”
“I can't look out for money, or something else, either. You don't know,” said Lois, in a pitiful voice.
There came a flash, and then a great crash of thunder. The tempest was about to break.