rovement
of the house and estate during Peter's minority; but over which he is
to have no control, should it remain unspent, until he comes of age.
That is to say, it will then--or what is left of it--be invested with
the rest of his capital, which is all strictly tied up. So, as old
Crawley says, it will relieve Peter's income in the future, if we
spend what is necessary now, according to our powers, in putting his
house and estate in order. It would have to be done sooner or later,
most assuredly. Sir Timothy, as you must know," said John, gently,
"did not spend above a third of his actual income; and, so far as Mr.
Crawley knows, spent nothing at all on repairs, beyond jobs to the
village carpenter and mason."

"I did not know," said Lady Mary. "He always told me we were very
badly off--for our position. I know nothing of business. I did not
attend much to Mr. Crawley's explanations at the time."

"You were unable to attend to him then," said John; "but now, I think,
you should understand the exact position of affairs. Surely my cousins
must have talked it over?"

"Isabella and Georgina never talk business before me. You forget I am
still a child in their eyes," she said, smiling. "I gathered that they
were disappointed poor Timothy had left them nothing, and that they
thought I had too much; that is all."

"Their way of looking at it is scarcely in accordance with justice,"
said John, shrugging his shoulders. "They each have ten thousand
pounds left to them by their father in settlement. This was to return
to the estate if they died unmarried or childless. You have two
thousand a year and the Dower House for your life; but you forfeit
both if you re-marry."

"Of course," said Lady Mary, indifferently. "I suppose that is the
usual thing?"

"Not quite, especially when your personal property is so small."

"I didn't know I had any personal property."

"About five hundred pounds a year; perhaps a little more."

"From the Setouns!" she cried.

"From your father. Surely you must have known?"

Lady Mary was silent a moment. "No; I didn't know," she said
presently. "It doesn't matter now, but Timothy never told me. I
thought I hadn't a farthing in the world. He never mentioned money
matters to me at all." Then she laughed faintly. "I could have lived
all by myself in a cottage in Scotland, without being beholden to
anybody--on five hundred pounds a year, couldn't I?"

"There is no reason you should not have