“Nearly half a million. But some of it has been used, put into a house, which of course will be given up to Mr. Darley.”
“Then you will take him away from me?” It was almost a wail with which the old lady said this.
“No, you can come with him, of course.”
“No. It will be his taking care of me then, and that will be so different. Oh, why did you come to disturb us?” She seemed quite forgetful for the time of the presence of any one else in the room, of her own caution to Sydney to speak quietly. Suddenly she appeared to recollect this latter necessity.
She ceased the half moaning she had begun and clutched Sydney’s arm tightly.
“I suppose,” she whispered, “that it would not be right to ask you to keep this money?”
“I can’t keep it,” Sydney replied. “I have suffered enough from it already.”
“But how can you give it to a man who is not in his right mind? He thinks he is a wealthy man. I have given him a quantity of gilt paper to play with. He is like a child, you know. The possession of real money will not make him any happier.”
“But there is the son,” suggested Sydney.
“I told you he was dead.”