Jerrold laughed. "Why, to _Eliot_. He's got it into his dear old head
that he _ought_ to have it. He can't see that Eliot knows his own
business best. It _would_ be most awfully in his way... It's pretty
beastly for me, too. I don't like taking it when I know Daddy wants
Eliot to have it. That's to say, he _doesn't_ want; he'd like me to have
it, because I'd take care of it. But that makes him all the more stuck
on Eliot, because he thinks it's the right thing. I don't like having it
in any case."

"Why ever not?"

"Well, I _can_ only have it if Daddy dies, and I'd rather die myself
first."

"That's how I feel about my farm."

"Beastly, isn't it? Still, I'm not worrying. Daddy's frightfully
healthy, thank Heaven. He'll live to be eighty at the very least. Why--I
should be fifty."

"_You're_ all right," said Anne. "But it's awful for me. Grandpapa might
die any day. He's seventy-five _now_. It'll be ages before you're
fifty."

"And I may never be it. India may polish me off long before that." He
laughed his happy laugh. The idea of his own death seemed to Jerrold
irresistibly funny.

"_India_?"