lowed precedence as representing the learned professions. After them
comes the family, headed by the senior uncle, William Dudgeon, a large,
shapeless man, bottle-nosed and evidently no ascetic at table. His
clothes are not the clothes, nor his anxious wife the wife, of a
prosperous man. The junior uncle, Titus Dudgeon, is a wiry little
terrier of a man, with an immense and visibly purse-proud wife, both
free from the cares of the William household.

Hawkins at once goes briskly to the table and takes the chair nearest
the sofa, Christy having left the inkstand there. He puts his hat on
the floor beside him, and produces the will. Uncle William comes to the
fire and stands on the hearth warming his coat tails, leaving Mrs.
William derelict near the door. Uncle Titus, who is the lady's man of
the family, rescues her by giving her his disengaged arm and bringing
her to the sofa, where he sits down warmly between his own lady and his
brother's. Anderson hangs up his hat and waits for a word with Judith.

JUDITH. She will be here in a moment. Ask them to wait. (She taps at
the bedroom door. Receiving an answer from within, she opens it and
passes through.)

ANDERSON (taking his place at the table at the opposite end to
Hawkins). Our poor afflicted sister will be with us in a moment. Are we
all here?

CHRISTY (at the house door, which he has just shut). All except Dick.

The callousness with which Christy names the reprobate jars on the
moral sense of the family. Uncle William shakes his head slowly and
repeatedly. Mrs. Titus catches her breath convulsively through her
nose. Her husband speaks.

UNCLE TITUS. Well, I hope he will have the grace not to come. I hope so.

The Dudgeons all murmur assent, except Christy, who goes to the window
and posts himself there, looking out. Hawkins smiles secretively as if
he knew something that would change their tune if they knew it.
Anderson is uneasy: the love of solemn family councils, especially
funereal ones, is not in his nature. Judith appears at the bedroom door.

JUDITH (with gentle impressiveness). Friends, Mrs. Dudgeon. (She takes
the chair from beside the fireplace; and places it for Mrs. Dudgeon,
who comes from the bedroom in black, with a clean handkerchief to her
eyes. All rise, except Essie. Mrs. Titus and Mrs. William produce
equally clean handkerchiefs and weep. It is an affecting moment.)

UNCLE WILLIAM. Would it comfort you, sister, if we were to offer up a
p