"Well," the old man observed, with wandering irrelevance, "it cannot be said that my death will make much difference in your mother's life."
"It will probably make more than you think."
"Well, she'll have more money," said Mr. Touchett. "I have left her a good wife's portion, just as if she had been a good wife."
"She has been one, daddy, according to her own theory. She has never troubled you."
"Ah, some troubles are pleasant," Mr. Touchett murmured. "Those you have given me, for instance. But your mother has been less—less—what shall I call it? less out of the way since I have been ill. I presume she knows I have noticed it."
"I shall certainly tell her so; I am so glad you mention it."
"It won't make any difference to her; she doesn't do it to please me. She does it to please—to please—" And he lay a while, trying to think why she did it. "She does it to please herself. But that is not what I want to talk about," he added. "It's about you. You will be very well off."
"Yes," said Ralph, "I know that. But I hope you have not forgotten the talk we had a year ago—when I told you exactly what money I should need and begged you to make some good use of the rest."
"Yes, yes, I remember. I made a new will in a few days. I suppose it was the first time such a thing had happened—a young man trying to get a will made against him."
"It is not against me," said Ralph. "It would be against me to have a large property to take care of. It is impossible for a man in my state of health to spend much money, and enough is as good as a feast."
"Well, you will have enough—and something over. There
