“No extreme loss to the community. Ah—would you—!” and he cast a threatening glance in the direction of the bird-cage at the sound of an insinuating “tweet.” “Well, what about the money?”
The lawyer’s eyes twinkled as though Mrs. Pentherby’s dividends were more interesting than her person.
“She has left nearly all her money and her furniture to Catherine. She died the very same day as Gwen.”
“Pity it wasn’t six months ago. The old lady had some first-class china, and a few fine pictures. Does Catherine say how much?”
“How much what, Porteus?”
“Money, my dear, money.”
“I don’t think she says.”
Her brother pushed back his chair, and glanced briskly at his watch.
“I’ll take it with me,” he said, stretching out a brown and energetic hand for the letter.
“I haven’t quite finished it, Porteus.”