When I say "we all," I include a very goodly company. I am almost sure that fifty people came home in mourning-coaches to Cousin Geoffrey's desolate house. It presented, however, anything but a desolate appearance on the day of his funeral. No one who saw that long train of mourning relatives could have said that Cousin Geoffrey had gone unsorrowed to his grave. Now, these sorrowing relatives wandered over his house, and after a cold collation, provided by the lawyers out of some of Cousin Geoffrey's riches, they assembled to hear the will read in the magnificent drawing-room, where the Paul Veronese hung. Mr Gray was the name of Cousin Geoffrey's lawyer. He was a most judicious man, and extremely polite to all the relatives. Of course he knew the secret which they were most of them burning to find out, but not by voice, gesture, or expression did he betray even an inkling of the truth. He was scrupulously polite to every one, and if he said a nice thing to an excitable old lady on his right, he was careful to say quite as nice a thing to an anxious-faced gentleman on his left. Nevertheless I felt sure that he could be irascible if he liked, and I soon saw that his politeness was only skin-deep. My mother and I did not join the group who sat round an enormous centre table. My mother looked terribly pale and sad, and she would keep me by her side, and stay herself quite in the background, rather to the disgust of some of the more distant relatives, who could not make out who my mother was, nor what brought her there. At last Mr Gray cleared his throat, put on his glasses, and looked down at an imposing-looking parchment which lay on the table at his side. Instead of opening the parchment, however, as every one expected, he suddenly took off his glasses again, and made a little speech to all the relatives. "I may as well premise," he said, "that my good friend who has passed away was extremely eccentric." "Ah, yes, that he was, poor dear! Undoubtedly eccentric, but none the worse for that," murmured the red-faced old lady at Mr Gray's right. He turned and frowned at her. "I should feel obliged to you not to interrupt me, madam," he said. "Quite right, too," said the testy old man on the left. He got a deeper frown from the lawyer, who, after a moment's pause, resumed his speech. "Our friend was eccentric. I make this remark with a reason. I am about to communicate some news which will astonish--and disappoint-- every individual in this room." This short speech made a profound sensation. All the relatives began muttering, and I cannot say that I once heard poor Cousin Geoffrey spoken of as "dear."