elt that it would be considered part of her duty to remain as long as
the Wickhams stayed. As she was about to ring the bell, Mrs. Wickham
stopped her with a gesture.

"Well, you might send some in so that it'll be ready when Mr. Wynne
comes. We'll ring for you, shall we?" she added. "I dare say you've got
one or two things you want to do now."

"Very good, Mrs. Wickham."

Nora could feel her cheeks burn as she left the room. But she was
thankful to escape. Outside the door she hesitated for a moment. There
was no good in rejoining Miss Pringle as yet. She had no news for her.
She hoped Mr. Wynne would not be delayed much longer. The Wickhams could
not possibly be more anxious to get back to London than she was to have
them go. How gratuitously insolent that woman was. Thank Heaven, she
need never see her again after to-day. Of course, she was furious
because she suspected that the despised companion was to be a
beneficiary under the will. How could anyone be so mean as to begrudge
her her well-earned share in so large a fortune! Well, the coming hour
would tell the tale.

On the table in her room was the letter to her brother which she had
forgotten to send to the post. Slipping down the stairs again, she went
in search of Kate to see if it were too late to send it to the village.
Now that it was written, she had almost a superstitions feeling that it
was important that it should catch the first foreign mail.

As she passed the door of the drawing-room, she could hear James
Wickham's voice raised above its normal pitch. Were they already
quarreling over the spoils!

CHAPTER III

Nora's surmise had been very nearly correct; the Wickhams were
quarreling, but not, as yet, over the spoils. James Wickham had waited
until the door had closed behind his aunt's companion to rebuke his
wife's untimely frivolity.

"I say, Dorothy, you oughtn't to be facetious before Miss Marsh. She was
extremely attached to Aunt Louisa."

"Oh, what nonsense!" jeered Mrs. Wickham, throwing herself pettishly
into a chair. "I find it's always a very good rule to judge people by
oneself, and I'm positive she was just longing for the old lady to die."

"She was awfully upset at the end, you know that yourself."

"Nerves! Men are so idiotic. They never understand that there are tears
_and_ tears. I cried myself, and Heaven knows I didn't regret her
death."

"My dear Dorothy, you oughtn't to say that."

"Why not?" retorted his