Once more Mr. Martin turned his eyes on Philip King. "How old was Reginald King when he died?"
"Twenty-three. Three years older than Philip is now."
"Well, poor fellow, I hope he will outlive his weakness, whatever may cause it, and get strong again. That money of his would be a nice windfall for somebody to drop into," added the clergyman, after a pause. "Who is heir-at-law?"
"I am."
"You!"
"Of course I am," was the quiet reply of Mr. Edwin Barley.
"Nurse him up, nurse him up, then," said the clergyman, jokingly. "Lest, if anything did happen, the world should say you had not done your best to prevent it; for you know you are a dear lover of money, Barley."
There may have been a great deal more said, but I did not hear. My head had sought the wall for its resting-place, and sleep stole over me.
What I felt most glad of, the next morning, was to get my purse. There were twenty-seven shillings in it; and old Betty had caused it to be put in one of the boxes, vexing me. "People in the train might rob me of it," she said.
Jemima waited on me at dressing, and I had breakfast in Miss Delves's parlour. Afterwards I went up to Mrs. Edwin Barley in the drawing-room. She was in mourning, deep as mine.