But as soon as it was light, Mrs. Marvell heard her moving, the splash of water, and the lighting of the fire. Presently Gertrude came to her side fully dressed—
"There, mother, I've made you a cup of tea! And now in a few minutes
I shall be off."
Mrs. Marvell sat up and drank the tea.
"I didn't think you'd go in such a hurry," she said, fretfully.
"I must. My day's so full. Well, now look here, Mother, I want you to know if anything were to happen to me, my thousand pounds would come to you first, and then to Winnie and her children. And it's my wish, that neither my brother nor Henry shall touch a farthing of it. I've made a will, and that's the address of my solicitors, who're keeping it." She handed her mother an envelope.
Mrs. Marvell put down her tea, and put her handkerchief to her eyes.
"I believe you're up to something dreadful, Gertrude,—which you won't tell me."
"Nonsense," said Gertrude, not however unkindly. "But we mayn't see each other for a good while. There!—I'll open the windows—that'll make you feel more cheerful." And she drew up the blinds to the dull February day, and opened a window.
"I'll telephone to Winnie as I go past the Post Office to come and spend the day with you—and I'll send up the servant to do your room. Now don't fret."
"I'm a lonely old woman, Gertrude:—and I wish I was dead."