She had filled the cups, and I had handed her toast, before she spoke.
Then:
"I suppose you know what I've come about," she said.
I nodded.
"Long, long ago you promised it. Nobody else can do it. The only question is 'when.'"
"That's the only question," I agreed.
"We, naturally," she continued, after a glance in which her eyes mutely thanked me for my implied promise, "are anxious that it should be as soon as possible; but, of course—I shall quite understand—"
She gave a momentary glance round my library. I helped her out.
"You mean that I'm a very important person nowadays, and that you're afraid to trespass on my time. Never mind that. I shall find time for this. But tell me before we go any further exactly how you stand and precisely what it is you expect."
Briefly she did so. It did not in the least surprise me to learn that her brother had died penniless.
"And if you hadn't undertaken the 'Life,'" she said, "he might just as well not have worked in poverty all these years. You can, at least, see to his fame."