Nina misunderstood her, finding her lying on her bed, her pale face
pillowed in her hair.
"Only horridly ordinary people will believe that Gerald wanted her
money," said Nina; "as though an Erroll considered such matters at
all--or needed to. Clear, clean English you are, back to the cavaliers
whose flung purses were their thanks when the Cordovans held their
horses' heads. . . . What are you crying for?"
"I don't know," said Eileen; "not for anything that you speak of.
Neither Gerald nor I ever wasted any emotion over money, or what others
think about it. . . . Is Drina ill?"
"No; only sick. Calomel will fix her, but she believes she's close to
dissolution and she's sent for Boots to take leave of him--the little
monkey! I'm so indignant. She's taken advantage of the general
demoralisation to eat up everything in the house. . . . Billy fell
downstairs, fox-hunting, and his nose bled all over that pink Kirman
rug. . . . Boots _is_ a dear; do you know what he's done?"
"What?" asked Eileen listlessly, raising the back of her slender hand
from her eyes to peer at Nina through the glimmer of tears.
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