‘Or five hundred for both?’
‘Or five hundred.’
‘Or even three hundred?’
‘Bother three hundred. Less than double the sum would not satisfy me. We may as well imagine much as little.’
Faith’s countenance had fallen. ‘O Kit,’ she said, ‘you always disappoint me.’
‘I do. How do I disappoint you this time?’
‘By not caring for three hundred a year—a hundred and fifty each—when that is all I have to offer you.’
‘Faith!’ said he, looking up for the first time. ‘Ah—of course! Lucy’s will. I had forgotten.’
‘It is true, and I had prepared such a pleasant surprise for you, and now you don’t care! Our cousin Lucy did leave us something after all. I don’t understand the exact total sum, but it comes to a hundred and fifty a year each—more than I expected, though not so much as you deserved. Here’s the letter. I have been dwelling upon it all day, and thinking what a pleasure it would be; and it is not after all!’
‘Good gracious, Faith, I was only supposing. The real thing is another matter altogether. Well, the idea of Lucy’s will containing our names! I am sure I would have gone to the funeral had I known.’