now, and opened drawers and dusted and put together a few things—­paper-knives, match-boxes, a writing-case, a silver sealing-wax holder, and so on; the occupation interested and soothed her.  She had the born mystic’s love of little kind actions, little presents, things treasured as symbols of the union of spirits, all the more because of their slight material value.  Then, too, the child element, which is in every good woman, gave a zest to the occupation and made it restful.

Lady Rose had put several small relics in a row on the edge of the lower part of the big mahogany bookcase, and was counting on her fingers the names of the friends for whom they were intended.  Her grief was sufficiently real to make her, perhaps, overestimate the number of those to whom such relics would be precious.  A tender smile was on her lips at the recollection of an old soldier servant of Sir David’s who had been with him in Egypt.  She hesitated a moment between two objects—­one, a good silver-mounted leather purse, and the other an inkstand of brass and marble.  These two things were the recipients of her unjust aversion for long after that moment.

Simmonds, the butler, opened the door, quite certain that the visitor he announced must be admitted, and conscious of the fitness of the big study for his reception.  It was Sir David’s solicitor.  But the butler was disappointed at the manner of his entrance.  He did not analyse the disappointment.  He was half conscious of the fact that the role of the family lawyer on the occasion was so simple and easy.  He would himself have assumed a degree of pomp, of sympathy, of respect, carrying a subdued implication that he brought solid consolation in his very presence.  Simmonds grieved truly for Sir David, but he felt, too, the blank caused by the absence of all funeral arrangements in a death at the war.  He had been butler in more than one house of mourning before, and he knew all his duties in that capacity.  After this he would know how to be butler in the event of death in battle.  But now, when the memorial service had taken, in a poor sort of way, the place of the funeral, of course the solicitor ought to come, and past deficiencies could be overlooked.  Why, then, should the man prove totally unequal to his task?  Mr. Murray, Junior, had usually a much better manner than to-day.  Perhaps he was startled at being shown at once into the widow’s presence.  Probably he might have expected to wait a few moments in the big study, while Simmonds went to seek his mistress.

But there was Lady Rose turning round from the bookcase as they came in.  Mr. Murray stooped to-day, and his large head was bent downwards, making it the more evident that the drops of perspiration stood out upon his brow.  He cast a look almost of fear at the fair face with its gentle, benignant expression.  He had seen Rose once or twice before, and he knew the old-fashioned type of great lady when he met it.  Was it of Rose’s gentle, subtle dignity that he was afraid?