"Is there a title? Is it much—the money that has been left you, I mean? Very much?"
"A good deal, but no title." And Crabbe could not and did not try to suppress the satisfied smile which told how he had gained in self-respect during the last few days.
"I expect you'll think it a good deal. Of course in England it will be different. There must be two houses with it; a town house—no, that was sold a long while ago, I believe; anyway, there would be more to do with it over there than on this side. I wonder how soon I ought to go."
"Go! You are going! But how much is it?"
"Oh! Didn't I say? About ten thousand; pounds you know, Pauline, pounds, not dollars."
"Ten thousand pounds!"
"A nice little sum, lady dear?"
"All that money yours?"
"Yes, and not a penny too much, not a penny too much. I have to revenge myself on fate, or Providence, or whatever you call it, for these years of misery. I have to think of what I might have done and lose no time in doing it. Pauline, I must think of you."
A softer mood held him now and he dropped upon his knee and laid his head upon her lap, but she could not follow his swift changes of emotion; the mention of the money had obliterated every other thought, and whether it was the woman in her or the potential miserliness of her race—the Clairvilles were traditionally stingy—she seemed unable to get away from the mere image of the ten thousand pounds.