p of tea, Dorothy."

She frowned at her husband behind the solicitor's broad back. More
delays. Could she bear it? "Oh, I'm so sorry, I quite forgot about it."

"No, thank you very much, I never take tea," protested that gentleman.
He took from his pocket a long blue envelope and slowly drew from it the
will, which he smoothed out with a deliberation which was maddening to
Mrs. Wickham. She could hardly tear her fascinated eyes away from it
long enough to tell the waiting Kate to ask Miss Marsh to be good enough
to come to them.

"What's the time, Jim?" she asked nervously.

"Oh, there's no hurry," he said, looking at his watch without seeing
it. Then turning to Wynne, he added: "We've got an important engagement
this evening in London and we're very anxious not to miss the fast
train."

"The train service down here is rotten," said Mrs. Wickham harshly.

"That's all right. The will is very short. It won't take me two minutes
to read it," Mr. Wynne reassured them.

"What on earth is Miss Marsh doing?" said Mrs. Wickham, half to herself.
An endless minute passed.

"How pretty the garden is looking now," said the solicitor cheerfully,
gazing out through the window.

"Very," Wickham managed to say.

"Miss Wickham was always so interested in her garden."

"Yes."

"My own tulips aren't so advanced as those."

"Aren't they?" Wickham's tone suggested irritation.

Mr. Wynne addressed his next observation to Mrs. Wickham.

"Are you interested in gardening?"

"No, I hate it. At last!"

The exclamation was called forth by the appearance of Nora in the
doorway. The two men both, rose; Wynne to go forward and shake Nora's
hand with unaffected cordiality, Wickham to whisper in his wife's ear,
beseeching her to exercise more self-control.

"How do you do, Miss Marsh? I'm rejoiced to see you looking so fit."

"Oh, I'm very well, thank you. How do you do?"

"Will you have a cup of tea?" asked Wickham in response to what he
thought was a signal from his wife.

But Mrs. Wickham had reached the point where further waiting was simply
impossible.

"Jim," she remonstrated, "Miss Marsh would much prefer to have tea
quietly after we're gone."

Nora understood and for the moment found it in her heart to be sorry for
the woman, much as she disliked her.

"I won't have any tea, thank you," she said simply.

"Mr. Wynne has brought the will with him," explained Mrs. Wickham. Her
tone was almost appealing as if she be