"
"You see that, Cousin Rodney, don't you? I _couldn't_ let a man like
that get the upper hand of me."
"Of course you couldn't, dear. I'd sit on him if I were you, and sit on
him hard. I'd knock him flat--and let Delia Rodman and Clorinda Clay go
to the deuce."
She looked at him wonderingly. "Let--who--go to the deuce?"
"I said Delia Rodman and Clorinda Clay. I might have included Fanny
Burnaby and the Brown girls. I meant them, of course. I suppose you've
been doing a lot of worrying on their account."
"I--I haven't," she stammered. "I haven't thought of them at all."
"Then I wouldn't. They've got no legal claim on you whatever. When they
put their money into your father's hands--or when other people put it
there for them--they took their chances. Life is full of risks like
that. You're not responsible for them, not any more than you are for the
fortunes of war. If they've had bad luck, then that's their own lookout.
Oh, I shouldn't have them on my mind for a minute."
She was too startled to suspect him of ruse or strategy.
"I haven't had them on my mind. It seems queer--and yet I haven't. Now
that you speak of them, of course I see--" She passed her hand across her
brow.
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