"Well, I'm telling you as fast as I can. You, you, you do hurry me so," Lettice complained. She took breath and tried again. "She, she—it was her will. You heard she left him a lot of money for his old aeroplanes?"
Gardiner nodded. "Yes, that was in The Mail. 'Bequest to an Airman.' Roche told me. I was very glad about it; poor dear old chap, it'll be something to take his mind off. But I don't see—"
"Well, she's left you some too. To show her gratitude for your consideration."
"How much? Five thousand? Good Lord! I say, Lettice, I can't possibly take it!" Lettice was silent. "Don't you agree with me?"
"No. I think you should."
"After all that's happened?"
"Well, you never did hate her, did you?" said Lettice. "And she didn't hate you, at any rate not at the last. She'd be sorry if you refused."
"No, I never hated her," said Gardiner. He lay back, thinking. "I say, Lettice."
"Well?"
"I say, I was cut up over that business. Weren't you?" Lettice nodded. He leaned forward, fingering the fringe of her tea-cloth. "Not for Denis's sake, I don't mean, but for her own. I—I liked her, you know. You couldn't help feeling she ought to have been such a jolly kid!"