“You were on one side of his bed, sir, and I was on the other. We were vainly trying to persuade him to make his will. After telling us he would wait and make his will when he was well again, he looked round at me, and said some kind and feeling words which my memory will treasure to my dying day. Have you forgotten those words, Mr. Noel?”
“Yes,” said Mr. Noel, without hesitation.
“In my present situation, sir,” retorted Mrs. Lecount, “delicacy forbids me to improve your memory.”
She looked at her watch, and relapsed into silence. He clinched his hands, and writhed from side to side of his chair in an agony of indecision. Mrs. Lecount passively refused to take the slightest notice of him.
“What should you say—?” he began, and suddenly stopped again.
“Yes, sir?”
“What should you say to—a thousand pounds?”
Mrs. Lecount rose from her chair, and looked him full in the face, with the majestic indignation of an outraged woman.
“After the service I have rendered you to-day, Mr. Noel,” she said, “I have at least earned a claim on your respect, if I have earned nothing more. I wish you good-morning.”
“Two thousand!” cried Noel Vanstone, with the courage of despair.