"Doesn't know what?"
"Doesn't know why. I asked him, you know. When you—er—disappeared. So I have to ask you again. Why?"
"Aren't you afraid that when you die you'll change into a question-mark?"
"Not at all. I intend to be answered before I die. Long before. One—two—three; why?"
But she was ready for the question now. "About Mr. Van Dam, you mean?" said she with elaborate carelessness. "Oh, well, you see, I'd be Mrs. Denyse's cousin in that case and, after a week of her, I've concluded that it isn't worth the price."
"Hard-hearted Parent will be displeased."
"I'm afraid so. Perhaps he'll cut me off with a shilling."
"I hope so."
"Now, that isn't a bit kind of you," she complained. "I'm not fitted for poverty. Not that it would be literally a shilling. But to have to do everything on twelve thousand a year—"
"How much?"