ancin' around the front office at the portraits in ring costume
and so on. "Quite!"

"Let's see," says I, "you are--er----"

"I am Mrs. Lee Hollister," says she, "of Richmond, Virginyah."

"I might have suspicioned that last," says I, "by the way you----"

But she don't give me a show to register any little slam I might have
thought of puttin' over. She's the kind that conducts a conversation
accordin' to her own rules, and she never hesitates to cut in.

"I want to know what there is about this will of Mr. Gordon's," she
demands. "Some absurd legacy, I presume; at least, my solicitor, Colonel
Henderson, seemed to think so. I suppose you've heard of Colonel Britt
Henderson?"

"Not a whisper," says I, as defiant as I know how.

She expresses her opinion of such ignorance with a little lift of her
pointed chin. "Colonel Henderson," she goes on, "is perhaps the ablest
and most brilliant attorney in Virginyah. He is connected with the best
families in the State."

"Never heard of anybody from down there that wa'n't," says I. "And while
I ain't disputin' him, mind you, his guess about this bein' a legacy
is----"

"Will Mr. Steele be in soon?" she asks crisp.

"Might," says I, "and then again he mightn't."

"It's rather rude of him to keep me waiting," says she.

"Maybe if you'd sent word ahead," I suggests, "he'd been on hand. But
now you've come all this way----"

"You don't suppose," breaks in Mrs. Hollister, "that I came north just
for that? Not at all. It was to select a design for the memorial window
I am having placed in our church, in memory of poor, dear Professor
Hollister. My late husband, you know; and a most noble, talented,
courtly gentleman he was too."

"Ye-e-es'm," says I.

"What are those objects on the wall?" says she, shiftin' sudden.

"Boxin' gloves, Ma'am," says I. "That's the pair of mitts that won me
the championship, back in----"

"Has Mr. Steele become a pugilist, too?" she asks.

"Not so you'd notice it," says I.

"Hm-m-m-m!" says she, tappin' the toe of one of her pumps and gazin'
around critical.

Not that she takes any notice of me. Honest, if I'd been a yellow pup
tied in the corner, she couldn't have been more offhand. I was gettin'
warm in the neck by the minute too, and in three more shakes I'd been
cuttin' loose with the acid remarks, when the door opens and in blows J.
Bayard Steele. I sighs relieved when I sees him too.

"Oh!" says he, gettin' a back view of her.