In a large octagon-shaped apartment that had been fitted up as a library, the most pleasing feature of which was its Southern aspect, were seated tete a tete two personages, who figured somewhat conspicuously in the early part of our story, these were Mrs. Fraudhurst and Sir Ralph Coleman.  They had met here at the request of the Baronet, for Sir Ralph and the widow rarely met except by appointment or at the dinner table.

Time had dealt kindly with the lady, and what was deficient by nature was supplied by art, for she was one of those who always paid the most scrupulous attention to their toilette.  If we were to describe her as fat, fair, and forty, we should certainly wrong her.  Fair and forty she undoubtedly was, but fat she certainly was not.  There was a slight tendency to embonpoint, but this was relieved by her tall and not ungraceful figure.  She was what might be termed a decidedly handsome woman.  The corpulent lawyer had subsided into the sleek, well-conditioned country gentleman.  But there was at times a certain restlessness of the eye, and a nervous twitching at the corners of the mouth, which, to a keen observer, would indicate that he was not always the quiet, self-possessed person that he would have his neighbors to believe.  The business on which they had met had been interrupted by the entrance of a servant with a note to Sir Ralph, but, on his leaving the room, the conversation was resumed by Mrs. Fraudhurst saying: 

“I would much rather, Sir Ralph, that this subject be now discontinued, and never again reverted to.  The papers to which you allude are perfectly safe in my hands, and I do not see that any good could accrue by my transferring them to you, certainly none to myself, and it might militate against me; for the great anxiety you evince to get possession of the documents leads me to believe that you have some particular object in view, something which does not appear or, the surface, and which you desire should not come to my knowledge.”

“But, my dear madam, you surely do not imagine that I have any other motive in requesting you to hand over to my safe keeping the deed in question than a natural desire to be quite certain that our mutual interests should not be imperilled by any accidental circumstance that might disclose the existence of any such document.”

The lady looked steadily at him for a few seconds, then in a clear distinct, and deliberate tone, said, “For the last seven years the will of the late Baronet has been in my possession, during which, time you, Sir Ralph, have made frequent attempts to obtain it from me, sometimes on one pretence, then on another.  Were I to agree to your request, what security have I that you, who have acted so vile a part against Miss Effingham, would not act as treacherously towards me, were I once in your power?  While I possess that document, I hold my position here, and can thus keep you at bay.  And think you that I will thus surrender