“You would take some of mine?”
“Why should I?”
“Because you can’t go away to nowhere without any money. Wait a minute.”
He demurred, but she took no notice, and went upstairs to her room. When she returned she gave him two ten-pound notes.
“I should have given you these on your eighteenth birthday, Wynne, so you may as well have them now. I did the same for Wallace when he was eighteen.”
It was the old symmetry coming out again—a clock in the middle, and a candlestick on either side.
“Thanks awfully much,” said Wynne.
“It is part of what I inherited from your Great-uncle Bryan.”
Uncle Clem had spoken the truth when he said, “Others will build the pulpit from which you hope to preach.” Wynne was going out to face the world on the reflected gilt of an agreeable counter-manner!
“Good-bye, mother.”