ssion that they had been talking with becoming sobriety of
light topics. He hoped his wife's raised voice had not been heard in the
passageway.

But Mrs. Wickham was beyond caring. Her toneless "Yes" in response to
his original observation betrayed her utter lack of interest in the
subject. But as Kate was still busy setting out the things on a small
table, he continued his efforts. Really, Dorothy should 'play up' more.

"It looks as if we were going to have a spell of fine weather."

"Yes."

"It's funny how often it rains for weddings."

"Very funny."

"The tea is ready, sir."

As Kate left the room, Mrs. Wickham crossed slowly over to where her
husband was standing in front of the window leading to the garden. Her
voice shook with emotion. It was evident that she was very near tears.
He put his arm around her awkwardly, but with a certain suggestion of
protective tenderness.

"I've been counting on that money for years," she said, hardly above a
whisper. "I used to dream at night that I 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