It was now a quarter past twelve. “A bad thing for me when that legacy came. ‘Don’t be so absurd. A little smothered cry broke from her lips—the curtains were thrown aside and a man stepped out. His face was half hidden under a freshly pipeclayed sola topee—sun-helmet. ‘Not kill me, I mean. “No,” she answered, reluctantly. “Until you marry, Vee,” said Hetty. “Sorry to be so terribly rude, Martin. “Eight pounds,” she plunged, and added foolishly, “fifteen pounds will see me clear of everything.
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