“I wish Wynne would come,” said her husband, glad to change the subject, particularly as he felt that he had failed to be very impressive.  “It’ll be beastly inconvenient if we miss that train,” he finished, glancing again at his watch.

“And another thing,” said Mrs. Wickham, turning sharply as she reached the end of the room, “I don’t trust that Miss Marsh.  She looks as if she knew what was in the will.”

“I don’t for a moment suppose she does.  Aunt Louisa wasn’t the sort of person to talk.”

“Nevertheless, I’m sure she knows she’s been left something.”

“Oh, well, I think she has the right to expect that.  Aunt Louisa led her a dog’s life.”

Mrs. Wickham made an angry gesture.  “She had her wages and a comfortable home.  If she didn’t like the place, she could have left it,” she said pettishly.  “After all,” she went on in a quieter tone, “it’s family money.  In my opinion, Aunt Louisa had no right to leave it to strangers.”

“I don’t think we ought to complain if Miss Marsh gets a small annuity,” said her husband soothingly.  “I understand Aunt Louisa promised her something of the sort when she had a chance of marrying a couple of years ago.”

“Miss Marsh is still quite young.  It isn’t as if she had been here for thirty years,” protested Mrs. Wickham.

“Well, anyway, I’ve got an idea that Aunt Louisa meant to leave her about two hundred and fifty a year.”

“Two hundred and fif——­ But what’s the estate amount to; have you any idea?”

“About nineteen thousand pounds, I believe.”

Mrs. Wickham, who had seated herself once more, struck her hands violently together.

“Oh, it’s absurd.  It’s a most unfair proposition.  It will make all the difference to us.  On that extra two hundred and fifty a year we could keep a car.”

“My dear, be thankful if we get anything at all,” said her husband solemnly.  For a moment she stared at him aghast.

“Jim!  Jim, you don’t think——­ Oh! that would be too horrible.”

“Hush!  Take care.”

He crossed to the window as the door opened and Kate came in softly with the tea things.

“How lucky it is that we had a fine day,” he said, endeavoring to give the impression that they had been talking with becoming sobriety of light topics.  He hoped his wife’s raised voice had not been heard in the passageway.

But Mrs. Wickham was beyond caring.  Her toneless “Yes” in response to his original observation betrayed her utter lack of interest in the subject.  But as Kate was still busy setting out the things on a small table, he continued his efforts.  Really, Dorothy should ‘play up’ more.

“It looks as if we were going to have a spell of fine weather.”

“Yes.”

“It’s funny how often it rains for weddings.”

“Very funny.”

“The tea is ready, sir.”

As Kate left the room, Mrs. Wickham crossed slowly over to where her husband was standing in front of the window leading to the garden.  Her voice shook with emotion.  It was evident that she was very near tears.  He put his arm around her awkwardly, but with a certain suggestion of protective tenderness.