“What’ll you do when I’m dead, Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth made no protest, as her sister Mary would have done. She had not been Edward Mottisfont’s ward since she was fourteen for nothing. She understood him very well, and she was perhaps the one creature whom he really loved. She leaned her chin in her hand and said:
“I don’t know, Mr. Mottisfont.”
Mr. Mottisfont never took his eyes off her face.
“Edward’ll want to move in here as soon as possible. What’ll you do?”
“I don’t know,” repeated Elizabeth, frowning a little.
“Well, if you don’t know, perhaps you’ll listen to reason, and do as I ask you.”
“If I can,” said Elizabeth Chantrey.
He nodded.
“Stay here a year,” he said, “a year isn’t much to ask—eh?”