“Mother!”
“Well, Geoffry?”
“I should like the child, little Arthur, to have my watch and its appendages. Have you any objection?”
“None.”
“It will be looked upon, you know, as a token of remembrance to the little fellow who had so sharp an illness through my horse.”
“Yes.”
“And—I have two desks, you know. The old one of common stained wood I wish sent to Miss Layne, locked as it is. The key I will enclose in a note. Let them be sent to her when I am dead.”
“It shall be done, Geoffry.”
“There’s not much in the desk. Just a few odds and ends of papers; mementoes of the short period when I was happy—though I ought not to have been. Nothing of value; except a ring that I bought for her at Worcester at the time, and which she would not take.”
“I promise it, Geoffry. I will do all you wish.”