"Bank-notes! Ten of them, for a thousand each! You beauties!" She pressed them between her little hands. "Think of all they can buy. Ten thousand pounds!" She laughed again; this time in her laughter there was the sound of something very like a sob. "Why, Mr Coventry, it's--it's like a fairy tale. Some people never dream that they will be able to even handle such a sum--just once."
"It is a queer start."
Mr Coventry rose from his chair. He stood with his back to the fireplace. The little woman followed him with her eyes.
"Come, Mr Coventry, you know very well from whom they came."
"I wish I did."
"Think! They came from that rich old uncle you have been telling me about."
"He would see me starve before he gave me a fiver. I know it is a fact."
"Is there nobody of whom you can think?"
"Not a soul! I don't believe there's an individual in the world who would give me a hundred pounds to keep me from the workhouse."
There was a pause. The gentleman looked at the lady; the lady looked at him. She kept folding and unfolding the notes between her dainty fingers; a smile parted her lips.