That evening in her room, Lady Mary, in a very cheerful mood, sat by a little bright unnecessary fire, with her writing-book before her, waiting till she should be sleepy.  It was the only point in which she was a little hard upon her maid, who in every other respect was the best-treated of servants.  Lady Mary, as it happened, had often no inclination for bed till the night was far advanced.  She slept little, as is common enough at her age.  She was in her warm wadded dressing-gown, an article in which she still showed certain traces (which were indeed visible in all she wore) of her ancient beauty, with her white hair becomingly arranged under a cap of cambric and lace.  At the last moment, when she had been ready to step into bed, she had changed her mind, and told Jervis that she would write a letter or two first.  And she had written her letters, but still felt no inclination to sleep.  Then there fluttered across her memory somehow the conversation she had held with Mr. Furnival in the morning.  It would be amusing, she thought, to cheat him out of some of those six-and-eightpences he pretended to think so much of.  It would be still more amusing, next time the subject of her will was recurred to, to give his arm a little tap with her fan, and say, “Oh, that is all settled, months ago.”  She laughed to herself at this, and took out a fresh sheet of paper.  It was a little jest that pleased her.

“Do you think there is any one up yet, Jervis, except you and me?” she said to the maid.  Jervis hesitated a little, and then said that she believed Mr. Brown had not gone to bed yet; for he had been going over the cellar, and was making up his accounts.  Jervis was so explanatory that her mistress divined what was meant.  “I suppose I have been spoiling sport, keeping you here,” she said good-humoredly; for it was well known that Miss Jervis and Mr. Brown were engaged, and that they were only waiting (everybody knew but Lady Mary, who never suspected it) the death of their mistress, to set up a lodging-house in Jermyn Street, where they fully intended to make their fortune.  “Then go,” Lady Mary said, “and call Brown.  I have a little business paper to write, and you must both witness my signature.”  She laughed to herself a little as she said this, thinking how she would steel a march on Mr. Furnival.  “I give, and bequeath,” she said to herself playfully, after Jervis had hurried away.  She fully intended to leave both of these good servants something, but then she recollected that people who are interested in a will cannot sign as witnesses.  “What does it matter?” she said to herself gayly; “If it ever should be wanted, Mary would see to that.”  Accordingly she dashed off, in her pretty, old-fashioned handwriting, which was very angular and pointed, as was the fashion in her day, and still very clear, though slightly tremulous, a few lines, in which, remembering playfully Mr. Furnival’s recommendation of “few words,” she left to little Mary all she possessed,