aps it would only be done in consequence of directions in his
will. It was believed that he could not live much longer.

With his kinsfolk he held very little communication. Alfred Yule, a
battered man of letters, had visited Wattleborough only twice (including
the present occasion) since John's return hither. Mrs Edmund Yule, with
her daughter--now Mrs Reardon--had been only once, three years ago.
These two families, as you have heard, were not on terms of amity with
each other, owing to difficulties between Mrs Alfred and Mrs Edmund; but
John seemed to regard both impartially. Perhaps the only real warmth of
feeling he had ever known was bestowed upon Edmund, and Miss Harrow had
remarked that he spoke with somewhat more interest of Edmund's daughter,
Amy, than of Alfred's daughter, Marian. But it was doubtful whether the
sudden disappearance from the earth of all his relatives would greatly
have troubled him. He lived a life of curious self-absorption, reading
newspapers (little else), and talking with old friends who had stuck to
him in spite of his irascibility.

Miss Harrow received her visitors in a small and soberly furnished
drawing-room. She was nervous, probably because of Jasper Milvain, whom
she had met but once--last spring--and who on that occasion had struck
her as an alarmingly modern young man. In the shadow of a window-curtain
sat a slight, simply-dressed girl, whose short curly hair and thoughtful
countenance Jasper again recognised. When it was his turn to be
presented to Miss Yule, he saw that she doubted for an instant whether
or not to give her hand; yet she decided to do so, and there was
something very pleasant to him in its warm softness. She smiled with a
slight embarrassment, meeting his look only for a second.

'I have seen you several times, Miss Yule,' he said in a friendly way,
'though without knowing your name. It was under the great dome.'

She laughed, readily understanding his phrase.

'I am there very often,' was her reply.

'What great dome?' asked Miss Harrow, with surprise.

'That of the British Museum Reading-room,' explained Jasper; 'known to
some of us as the valley of the shadow of books. People who often work
there necessarily get to know each other by sight.

In the same way I knew Miss Yule's father when I happened to pass him in
the road yesterday.'

The three girls began to converse together, perforce of trivialities.
Marian Yule spoke in rather slow tones, thoug