going to watch
you? That's what I always ask in these cases. Unless the lady goes and
does things right under the noses of these trustees they aren't going to
bother. Even Sir Isaac I suppose hasn't provided funds for a private
detective. Eh? You said something?"

"Nothing," said Mr. Brumley.

"Well, why should they start a perfectly rotten action like that,"
continued Maxwell Hartington, now addressing himself very earnestly to
his client, "when they've only got to keep quiet and do their job and be
comfortable. In these matters, Brumley, as in most matters affecting the
relations of men and women, people can do absolutely what they like
nowadays, absolutely, unless there's someone about ready to make a row.
Then they can't do anything. It hardly matters if they don't do
anything. A row's a row and damned disgraceful. If there isn't a row,
nothing's disgraceful. Of course all these laws and regulations and
institutions and arrangements are just ways of putting people at the
mercy of blackmailers and jealous and violent persons. One's only got to
be a lawyer for a bit to realize that. Still that's not _our_ business.
That's psychology. If there aren't any jealous and violent persons
about, well, then no ordinary decent person is going to worry what you
do. No decent person ever does. So far as I can gather the only
barbarian in this case is the testator--now in Kensal Green. With
additional precautions I suppose in the way of an artistic but
thoroughly massive monument presently to be added----"

"He'd--turn in his grave."

"Let him. No trustees are obliged to take action on _that_. I don't
suppose they'd know if he did. I've never known a trustee bother yet
about post-mortem movements of any sort. If they did, we'd all be having
Prayers for the Dead. Fancy having to consider the subsequent
reflections of the testator!"

"Well anyhow," said Mr. Brumley, after a little pause, "such a breach,
such a proceeding is out of the question--absolutely out of the
question. It's unthinkable."

"Then why did you come here to ask me about it?" demanded Maxwell
Hartington, beginning to rub the other eye in an audible and unpleasant
manner.

Sec.5

When at last Mr. Brumley was face to face with Lady Harman again, a vast
mephitic disorderly creation of anticipations, intentions, resolves,
suspicions, provisional hypotheses, urgencies, vindications, and wild
and whirling stuff generally vanished out of his mind. There besi