“Every penny. I took good care of that; and I’ll take good care she doesn’t alter it, too.”
“But when do you think she’ll get it?”
“As soon as this cousin of hers dies. He has been dying these ever so many months,” Alfred Wimple said discontentedly; “only he’s so long about it.”
“But she won’t give it to you right away when she has got it herself. You’ll have to wait till she dies.”
“I don’t think she’ll live long,” he said grimly; “I’m half afraid, sometimes, that she won’t last as long as he will, unless he makes haste.”
“We’ll have good times, Alfred, once we’ve got our money?”
“Yes, we will,” he answered with determination.
“You mustn’t think that I care only for the money,” the girl went on; “it’s your being away that I care about most.”
“I care about money; I want money, Caroline. I don’t like being poor.”
“You see, I have always been poor, and don’t mind so much.”