was reading a telegram with the news of Aunt Louisa's death. And I've thought of all we should be able to do when we get it. It'll make such a difference.'
'You know what she was. She didn't care twopence for us. We ought to be prepared for the worst,' he said soberly.
'Do you think she could have left everything to Miss Marsh?'
'I shouldn't be greatly surprised.'
'We'll dispute the will,' she said, once more raising her voice. 'It's undue influence. I suspected Miss Marsh from the beginning. I hate her. Oh, how I hate her! Oh, why doesn't Wynne come?'
A ring at the bell answered her.
'Here he is, I expect.'
'The suspense is too awful.'
'Pull yourself together, old girl,' said Wickham, patting his wife encouragingly on the shoulder. 'And I say, look a bit dismal. After all, we've just come from a funeral.'
Mrs. Wickham gave a sort of suppressed wail. 'Oh, I'm downhearted enough, Heaven knows.'
'Mr. Wynne, sir,' said Kate from the doorway.
Mr. Wynne, the late Miss Wickham's solicitor, was a jovial, hearty man, tallish, bald and ruddy-looking. In his spare time he played at being a country gentleman. He had a fine, straightforward eye and a direct manner that inspired one with confidence. He was dressed in complimentary mourning, but for the moment his natural hearty manner threatened to get the better of him.
'Helloa,' he said, holding out his hand to Wickham. But the sight of Mrs. Wickham, seated on the sofa dejectedly enough, recalled to him that he should be more subdued in the presence of such genuine grief. He crossed the room to take Dorothy's hand solemnly.
'I didn't have an opportunity of shaking hands with you at the cemetery.'
'How do you do,' she said rather absently.
'Pray accept my sincerest sympathy on your great bereavement.'
Mrs. Wickham made an effort to bring her mind back from the all-absorbing fear that possessed her.
'Of course the end was not entirely unexpected.'
'No, I know. But it must have been a great shock, all the same.'
He was going on to say what a wonderful old lady his late client had been in that her faculties seemed perfectly unimpaired until the very last, when Wickham interrupted him. Not only was he most anxious to hear the will read himself and have it over, but he saw signs in his wife's face and in the nervous manner in which she rolled and unrolled her handkerchief, that she was nearing the end of her self-control, never very great.
'My wife was very much upset, but of course my poor aunt had suffered great pain, and we couldn't help looking upon it as a happy release.'
'Naturally,' responded the solicitor sympathetically. 'And how is Miss Marsh?' He was looking at James Wickham as he spoke, so that he missed the sudden 'I told you so' glance which Mrs. Wickham flashed at her husband.
'Oh, she's very well,' she managed to say with a careless air.
'I'm glad to learn that she is not completely prostrated,' said Mr. Wynne warmly. 'Her devotion to Miss Wickham was perfectly wonderful. Dr. Evans--he's my brother-in-law, you know--told me no trained nurse could have been more competent. She was like a daughter to Miss Wickham.'
'I suppose we'd better send for her,' said Mrs. Wickham coldly.
'Have you brought the----' Wickham stopped in embarrassment.
'Yes, I have it in my pocket,' said the solicitor quickly. He had noted before now how awkward people always were about speaking of wills. There was nothing indelicate about doing so. Heavens, all right-minded persons made their wills and they
