e silver shoe-buckles which had so long been identified with the
quaint costume of Mr. Burt, would be a very pretty and interesting
heir-loom in the family of young Mr. Dinks.

Upon which the eminent confidential counsel took snuff, and while he
flirted the powder from his fingers looked at his young friend Baze.

Young Mr. Baze said, "Very interesting!" and continued the attitude of
listening for further wisdom from his superior.

Lawrence Newt meanwhile had narrowly watched his niece Fanny. Nobody else
cared to approach her; but he went over to her presently.

"Well, Fanny."

"Well, Uncle Lawrence."

"Beautiful place, Fanny."

"Is it?"

"So peaceful after the city."

"I prefer town."

"Fanny!"

"Uncle Lawrence."

"What are you going to do?"

She had not looked at him before, but now she raised her eyes to his. She
might as well have closed them. Dropping them, she looked upon the floor
and said nothing.

"I'm sorry for you, Fanny."

She looked fierce. There was a snake-like stealthiness in her appearance,
which Alfred's mother saw across the room and trembled. Then she raised
her eyes again to her uncle's, and said, with a kind of hissing sneer,

"Indeed, Uncle Lawrence, thank you for nothing. It's not very hard for
you to be sorry."

Not dismayed, not even surprised by this speech, Lawrence was about to
reply, but she struck in,

"No, no; I don't want to hear it. I've been cheated, and I'll have my
revenge. As for you, my respected uncle, you have played your cards
better."

He was surprised and perplexed.

"Why, Fanny, what cards? What do you mean?"

"I mean that an old fox is a sly fox," said she, with the hissing sneer.

Lawrence looked at her in amazement.

"I mean that sly old foxes who have lined their own nests can afford to
pity a young one who gets a silver shoe-buckle," hissed Fanny, with
bitter malignity. "If Alfred Dinks were not a hopeless fool, he'd break
the will. Better wills than this have been broken by good lawyers before
now. Probably," she added suddenly, with a sarcastic smile, "my dear
uncle does not wish to have the will broken?"

Lawrence Newt was pondering what possible interest she thought he could
have in the will.

"What difference could it make to me in any case, Fanny?"

"Only the difference of a million of dollars," said she, with her teeth
set.

Gradually her meaning dawned upon Lawrence Newt. With a mingled pain, and
contempt, and surprise, and a