I find, made a good deal of
money in his time, and saved it; bought houses and built houses; bought
up annuities, insurances, shares in companies--all manner of things. He
only left his property to his present wife for her use of what it brings
every year during her life. At her death it all comes to you, and I'm
told she can't live long."

"Oh, but she may. I hope and pray that she may," Minola exclaimed. "It
seems shocking to watch for a woman's death, especially when we were not
very friendly to each other. I don't want the money; I have
enough--quite enough. I shouldn't know what to do with it. I don't care
much about new dresses, and bonnets, and the fashions, and all that; and
what could I do with money, living alone in my quiet way? I think a girl
of my age, living all to herself, and having much money, would be
perfectly ridiculous. Why could not her husband get it, if the poor
creature dies? That would be only right. I am sure he may have it for
me."

"He mayn't have it for me though," Mr. Money said. "You have no one, it
seems to me, to look after your interests, and I'll take the liberty to
do so, for lack of a better, whether you like it or not. However, we can
talk about that when the time comes."

Minola gave a sort of shudder.

"When the time comes. That seems so dreadful; as if we were only waiting
for the poor woman to be dead to snatch at whatever she left behind her.
Mr. Money, is there really no other way? must I have this property?"

"If she dies before you, yes--it will come to you. Of course you know
that it isn't great wealth in the London sense. It won't constitute you
an heiress in the Berkeley Square sense, but it will give you a good
deal of miscellaneous property for a young woman. Well, as to that, I'll
see that you get your rights; and the only thing I have to ask is just
that you will not do anything decided, or anything at all, in this
business, without consulting me."

"Oh, indeed, I can faithfully promise you that. I have no other friend
whom I could possibly consult, or who would take any interest in me."

"Come, now, I can't believe that. If you wish, you can be like the young
lady in Sheridan's song--friends in all the aged you'll meet, and lovers
in the young."

"I don't want to be like her in that."

"In having friends in all the aged?"

"Oh, I don't know; in anything. I am well content with the friends I
have."

"Well, some of them, at least, are well content with y