, like an artist examining his picture
at the end of the day's work. The result appeared to satisfy her, and
she opened the serious business of the interview on the spot.

"Will you look at the written evidence I have mentioned to you, Mr.
Noel, before I say any more?" she inquired. "Or are you sufficiently
persuaded of the truth to proceed at once to the suggestion which I have
now to make to you?"

"Let me hear your suggestion," he said, sullenly resting his elbows on
the table, and leaning his head on his hands.

Mrs. Lecount took from her traveling-bag the written evidence to which
she had just alluded, and carefully placed the papers on one side of
him, within easy reach, if he wished to refer to them. Far from being
daunted, she was visibly encouraged by the ungraciousness of his manner.
Her experience of him informed her that the sign was a promising one.
On those rare occasions when the little resolution that he possessed
was roused in him, it invariably asserted itself--like the resolution
of most other weak men--aggressively. At such times, in proportion as he
was outwardly sullen and discourteous to those about him, his resolution
rose; and in proportion as he was considerate and polite, it fell. The
tone of the answer he had just given, and the attitude he assumed at the
table, convinced Mrs. Lecount that Spanish wine and Scotch mutton had
done their duty, and had rallied his sinking courage.

"I will put the question to you for form's sake, sir, if you wish it,"
she proceeded. "But I am already certain, without any question at all,
that you have made your will?"

He nodded his head without looking at her.

"You have made it in your wife's favor?"

He nodded again.

"You have left her everything you possess?"

"No."

Mrs. Lecount looked surprised.

"Did you exercise a reserve toward her, Mr. Noel, of your own accord?"
she inquired; "or is it possible that your wife put her own limits to
her interest in your will?"

He was uneasily silent--he was plainly ashamed to answer the question.
Mrs. Lecount repeated it in a less direct form.

"How much have you left your widow, Mr. Noel, in the event of your
death?"

"Eighty thousand pounds."

That reply answered the question. Eighty thousand pounds was exactly
the fortune which Michael Vanstone had taken from his brother's orphan
children at his brother's death--exactly the fortune of which Michael
Vanstone's son had kept possession, in his turn,