“But Mrs. Moze is ill in bed,” protested Miss Ingate.

“All the more reason why she should make a will.  It may save endless trouble.  And it is her duty.  I shall suggest that I be the executor and trustee, of course with the usual power to charge costs.”  His face was hard again.  “You will thank me later on, Miss Moze,” he added.

“Do you mean now?” shrilled Miss Ingate.

“I do,” said he.  “If you will give me some paper, we might go to her at once.  You can be one of the witnesses.  I could be a witness, but as I am to act under the will for a consideration somebody else would be preferable.”

“I should suggest Aguilar,” answered Miss Ingate, the corners of her lips dropping.

Miss Ingate went first, to prepare Mrs. Moze.

When Audrey was alone in the study—­she had not even offered to accompany her elders to the bedroom—­she made a long sound:  “Ooo!” Then she gave a leap and stood still, staring out of the window at the estuary.  She tried to force her mood to the colour of her dress, but the sense of propriety was insufficient for the task.  The magnificence of all the world was unfolding itself to her soul.  Events had hitherto so dizzyingly beaten down upon her head that she had scarcely been conscious of feeling.  Now she luxuriously felt.  “I am at last born,” she thought.  “Miracles have happened....  It’s incredible....  I can do what I like with mother....  But if I don’t take care I shall die of relief this very moment!”

CHAPTER V

THE DEAD HAND

Audrey was wakened up that night, just after she had gone to sleep, by a touch on the cheek.  Her mother, palely indistinct in the darkness, was standing by the bedside.  She wore a white wrap over her night attire, and the customary white bandage from which emanated a faint odour of eau-de-Cologne, was around her forehead.

“Audrey, darling, I must speak to you.”

Instantly Audrey became the wise directress of her poor foolish mother’s existence.

“Mother,” she said, with firm kindness, “please do go back to bed at once.  This sort of thing is simply frightful for your neuralgia.  I’ll come to you in one moment.”

And Mrs. Moze meekly obeyed; she had gone even before Audrey had had time to light her candle.  Audrey was very content in thus being able to control her mother and order everything for the best.  She guessed that the old lady had got some idea into her head about the property, or about her own will, or about the solicitor, or about a tombstone, and that it was worrying her.  She and Miss Ingate (who had now returned home) had had a very extensive palaver, in low voices that never ceased, after the triumphant departure of Mr. Foulger.  Audrey had cautiously protested; she was afraid her mother would be fatigued, and she saw no reason why her mother should be acquainted with all the details of a complex matter; but the gossiping habit of a quarter of a century was too powerful for Audrey.