She said:
“I’ve got through it all! Five hundred for Mrs. Bishop—she’s been here such years. A hundred for the cook and fifty each for Milly and Olive. Five pounds each to the others. Twenty-five for Stephens, the head gardener; and there’s old Gerrard, of course, at the Lodge. I haven’t done anything about him yet. It’s awkward. He’ll have to be pensioned off, I suppose?”
She paused and then went on rather hurriedly:
“I’m settling two thousand on Mary Gerrard. Do you think that’s what Aunt Laura would have wished? It seemed to me about the right sum.”
Roddy said without looking at her:
“Yes, exactly right. You’ve always got excellent judgement, Elinor.”
He turned to look out of the window again.
Elinor held her breath for a minute, then she began to speak with nervous haste, the words tumbling out incoherently:
“There’s something more: I want to—it’s only right—I mean, you’ve got to have your proper share, Roddy.”
As he wheeled round, anger on his face, she hurried on:
“No, listen, Roddy. This is just bare justice! The money that was your uncle’s—that he left to his wife—naturally he always assumed it would come to you. Aunt Laura meant it to, too. I know she did, from lots of things she said. If I have her money, you should have the amount that was his—it’s only right. I—I can’t bear to feel I’ve robbed you—just because Aunt Laura funked making a will. You must—you must see sense about this!”
Roderick’s long, sensitive face had gone dead white.
He said:
“My God, Elinor, do you want to make me feel an utter cad? Do you think for one moment I could—could take this money from you?”
“I’m not giving it to you. It’s just—fair.”
Roddy cried out:
“I don’t want your money!”
“It isn’t mine!”
“It’s yours by law—and that’s all that matters! For God’s sake, don’t let’s be anything but strictly businesslike! I won’t take a penny from you. You’re not going to do the Lady Bountiful to me!”
Elinor cried out:
“Roddy!”
He made a quick gesture.
“Oh, my dear, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m saying. I feel so bewildered—so utterly lost….”
Elinor said gently:
“Poor Roddy….”
He had turned away again and was playing with the blind tassel of the window. He said in a different tone, a detached one:
“Do you know what—Mary Gerrard proposes doing?”
“She’s going to train as a masseuse, so she says.”
He said, “I see.”
There was a silence. Elinor drew herself up; she flung back her head. Her voice when she spoke was suddenly compelling.