The talk about the vast sums to be expended in charity produced a curious effect on Mavis Dale. It seemed that her own two thousand pounds was a steadily diminishing quantity; she was still greatly excited whenever she thought about it, but she could not feel again the respectful rapture caused by her first thought of its lavishly generous extent. Perhaps just at first, doing what the solicitor advised her not to do, she had not altogether discriminated between capital and interest. Dazzled by the abstract notion of wealth, she had over-estimated concrete potentialities. Of course William would allow her to accept the legacy. In the early days after their visit to Old Manninglea she had tormented herself with fears that he would attempt to force a renunciation of benefits from that quarter, and she had determined never to yield to so preposterous an exercise of authority; but now she felt certain that he would not thus drive her to open revolt. He was still somber and silent, but, however long he remained in this gloomy state, he would not interfere with her freedom in regard to the money. Nevertheless, she felt relieved when he explicitly stated that there would be no further opposition on his part. "Oh, Will, I can't tell you how glad I am to hear you talk so sensibly about it." "It is not willingly that I say 'Yes.' Don't you go and think that." "No. But you do see we couldn't act otherwise?" "You must accept it--for this reason, and not for any other reason. Our hands are tied. If you refuse it, people would wonder." "Yes--yes. But, Will, you keep saying _you_, when it's really us. It will be _ours_, not just only mine, you must remember." "Ah, but I doubt if I could ever take you at your word, there." After this she sang at her household work. She took as a good sign the fact that he had spoken doubtfully, instead of formally repudiating her suggestion that they were to share alike in all the good things which the money might bring them. She thought it must mean that he was very near to forgiving her. Death had now almost wiped out _everything_. He was feeling more and more every day what she had felt from the beginning, that it was palpably absurd to go on harboring resentment. Free now from exaggerated estimates, with ideas readjusted to the measure of reality, and her natural common sense at work again, she thought of what the little fortune might truly do for them. It ought to yield a hundred pounds, twice fifty pounds a year--roughly two pounds a week coming in unearned. Why, it _was wealth_. On top of William's annual emoluments such an income would make them feel as if they were rolling in money. Visions immediately arose of all sorts of things that would now be within the scope of their means--choicer meals for William, aprons and caps for Mary, new curtains and much else new and delightful to beautify the home. Little excursions too--a regular seaside holiday during leave-time!