She passed her hand over her forehead with a weary gesture.

“It is wrong to talk of ourselves at all when Dad is only just buried,” she continued.  “You say Mr. Bayliss wants to see me—­very well!—­in a few minutes I will come.”

She stepped back inside her little room and shut the door.  Clifford walked away, resentful and despairing.  There was something in her manner that struck him as new and foreign to her usual sweet and equable nature,—­a grave composure, a kind of intellectual hardness that he had never before seen in her.  And he wondered what such a change might portend.

Downstairs, the funeral party had broken up—­many of the mourners had gone, and others were going.  Some lingered to the last possible moment that their intimacy or friendship with the deceased would allow, curious to hear something of the will—­what the amount of the net cash was that had been left, and how it had been disposed.  But Mr. Bayliss, the lawyer, was a cautious man, and never gave himself away at any point.  To all suggestive hints and speculative theories he maintained a dignified reserve—­and it was not until the last of the guests had departed that he made his way to the vacant “best parlour,” and sat there with his chair pulled well up to the table and one or two legal-looking documents in front of him.  Robin Clifford joined him there, taking a seat opposite to him—­and both men waited in more or less silence till the door opened softly to admit Innocent, who came in with Priscilla.

Mr. Bayliss rose.

“I’m sorry to have to disturb you, Miss—­er—­Miss Innocent,” he said, with some awkwardness—­“on this sad occasion—­”

“It is no trouble,” she answered, gently—­“if I can be of any use—­”

Mr. Bayliss waited till she sat down,—­then again seated himself.

“Well, there is really no occasion to go over legal formalities,” he said, opening one of the documents before him—­“Your uncle, Mr. Clifford, was a business man, and made his will in a business-like way.  Briefly, I may tell you that Briar Farm, its lands, buildings, and all its contents are left to you—­who are identified thus—­’to my nephew, Robin Clifford, only son of my only sister, the late Elizabeth Jocelyn, widow of John Clifford, wholesale trader in French wines, and formerly resident in the City of London, on condition that the said Robin Clifford shall keep and maintain the farm and house as they have always been kept and maintained.  He shall not sell any part of the land for building purposes, nor shall he dispose of any of the furniture, pewter, plate, china, glass, or other effects belonging to Briar Farm House,—­but shall carefully preserve the same and hand them down to his lawful heirs in succession on the same terms as heretofore’—­etc., etc.,—­yes!—­well!—­that is the gist of the business, and we need not go over the details.  With the farm and lands aforesaid he leaves the sum of Twenty Thousand Pounds—­”