"If I were rich," she said, "I would buy an annuity for Mrs. M'Cosh of
at least £200 a year. When you think that she once had a house and a
husband, and a best room with an overmantel and a Brussels carpet, and
lost them all, and is contented to be a servant to us, with no prospect
of anything for her old age but the workhouse or the charity of
relations, and keeps cheery and never makes a moan and never loses her
interest in things ..."

"But you're _not_ rich," said Jock.

"No," said Jean ruefully. "Isn't it odd that no one ever leaves us a
legacy? But I needn't say that, for it would be much odder if anyone
did. I don't think there is a single human being in the world entitled
to leave us a penny piece. We are destitute of relations.... Oh, well, I
daresay we'll get on without a legacy, but for your comfort I'll read to
you about the sort of house we would have if some kind creature did
leave us one."

She dived for a copy of _Country Life_ that was lying on the sofa, and
turned to the advertisements of houses to let and sell.

"It is good of Mrs. Jowett letting us have this every week. It's a great
support to me. I wonder if anyone ever does buy these houses, or if they
are merely there to tantalize poor folk? Will this do? 'A finely
timbered sporting estate--seventeen bedrooms----'"

"Too small," said Jock from his cramped position on the raft.

"'A beautiful little property----' No. Oh, listen. 'A characteristic
Cotswold Tudor house'--doesn't that sound delicious? 'Mullioned windows.