From his position, a little behind the visitor, he had an excellent view of her as she sat erect in the wicker chair, her parasol across her lap.  Miss Betty was plump and short, and had a dimple in her chin.  Her hair, which was turning gray, waved prettily back from her forehead into the thickest of braids, and altogether there was a pleasant air of crispness about her; though something in the keenness of her glance, or the firmness with which her lips met, suggested that on occasion she might be unyielding.  “The Barnwell stubbornness,” she herself would have explained, with the same complacency she manifested when displaying her grandmother’s tea-set.

Mrs. Roberts, Maurice’s mother, was a gentle person, with large, soft eyes and a quiet manner.

The preliminary conversation had not been interesting, pertaining chiefly to flowers and the weather, and Maurice gave a sigh of satisfaction when, after a moment’s pause, Miss Betty straightened herself and remarked, “Well, I hear the will is certain to be sustained.”

“Then the property will have to be sold?” questioned Mrs. Roberts.

“Yes, and I may as well say good-by to the cream-jug and sugar-dish that Cousin Anne always said should be mine.  Still, I never shall believe Cousin Thomas was out of his mind when he made that last will, it was too much like him.  Dear knows it ought to be broken, but not on that ground.  It was a case of pure spite.”

“Oh, Betty!”

Maurice smiled to himself at his mother’s tone.

“I assure you it was.  I knew Cousin Thomas.  Didn’t Cousin Anne tell me dozens of times in his presence, ’Betty, this is your cream-jug and sugar-dish, because they match your teapot’?”

“I should think you had enough silver, Betty; still it was a shame Miss Anne left that list unsigned,” said Mrs. Roberts.

“If you knew Cousin Anne at all, Mrs. Roberts, you knew how hesitating she was.  She couldn’t decide whether to leave the Canton china to Ellen Marshall or to Tom’s wife.  She changed her mind any number of times, but she was always clear about my cream-jug and sugar-dish.  If Cousin Thomas had had any decency, he would have considered her wishes.  Think of my own grandmother’s things put up at public auction!”

“Most of Mr. Gilpin’s money goes to the hospital, I suppose,” remarked Mrs. Roberts.

“Pretty much everything but the real estate in and around Friendship, and the contents of the house, all of which will have to be sold and divided among his first cousins or their heirs.  The only bequests made besides the money to the hospital are to Celia Fair and Allan Whittredge.  Celia is to have the spinet, and Allan that beautiful old ring, if ever it comes to light again.  I wish Cousin Thomas had left Celia some money.  She was one person for whom he had a little affection.”

Maurice wished so too.  He admired Miss Celia Fair, and felt it was too bad she should get only an antiquated piano.