The Colonel paused a moment, and then the same idea that occurred to Chessingham came to him.
"And the making of a will does n't mean the enjoyment of the property, my love. Romaine may have a passion for making wills—some rich men have—and this may be one of a dozen he may make."
Letty said nothing. Money was the greatest good fortune in the eyes of the world—but the scheme devised for her eventual enrichment had serious drawbacks. Mr. Romaine might live for twenty years—even Mr. Chessingham himself did not know precisely what were the old gentleman's real maladies, and what were his imaginary ones—and that would mean twenty years of subservience on her part toward a man for whom she now felt a positive repulsion. She caught herself wishing that Mr. Romaine would die soon—and was frightened and ashamed of herself. And now Mr. Romaine's relatives would hate her!
"All of the Romaine people will hate me," she said, with pale lips, to the Colonel—they were both standing up now before the fire, and although the ruddy blaze made the room quite light, it was dark outside.
