“You really are an angel,” said Miss Seneschal. “Now help us out with the dates.” The solicitor picked up a pencil and began to draw lines upon a pad. “Whenever,” he said slowly, “I deal with a Will I always feel that I am treading venerable ground. A Will is an essentially human document. It is the spokesman of the dead. . . . Man can take nothing out of this world. Therefore one day he sits down and puts upon record—secret record to whom, when his wealth is left masterless, he desires it to pass. Sometimes his directions are rational: sometimes they seem unkind: sometimes they are unexpected. But, as the spokesman says, so it must be done. We cannot reason with the spokesman—perhaps that’s as well. But, what is more to the point, the spokesman cannot reason with us. Its principal is dead. . . . Well, because it cannot reason, it is to my mind our duty to reason with ourselves on its behalf. _Noblesse oblige._ We that are quick owe it to the pitiful dead. We must look to see what is written—between the lines. . . . Here is a bare bequest. _Why was it made?_ Because the old man liked you—liked you both. He hoped it would bring you happiness—joint happiness. He assumed, of course, that you would marry. He thought about you when you were gone. It gave him rare pleasure to picture his two young friends enjoying his home. Therefore he left it you. . . . Well, you’re not going to marry. There goes half his dream. I’m sure for his memory’s sake you won’t shatter the other half.” There was a long silence. At length— “You’re perfectly right,” said Pomeroy uncertainly. “I’m afraid I rather lost sight of that—that aspect.” “So did I,” said Belinda shakily. “And I feel very much ashamed. Ivan, if we can’t behave ourselves we ought to renounce. It’s—it’s not decent.” “Don’t rub it in, dear,” said Ivan brokenly. “You—you can shift the blinkin’ balustrade.” “I shan’t,” said Belinda. “He—he put it there.” Ivan groaned. “I shan’t touch a thing,” she continued tearfully. “And we won’t have any arrangement about residing. I don’t think it’s necessary now.” “That’s right,” said Ivan. “After all, one doesn’t have to have a lawsuit as to who’s to have the first bath. If one wants hers at half-past eight, the other can have his at nine.” “Exactly,” said Miss Seneschal. The two rose to their feet. “Well, thank you very much, Mr. Forsyth. You’ll let us know whatever we’ve got to do.” “I will,” said Forsyth, rising. “When either wants to occupy they can send the other a card. If any difficulty arises you can always come to me. But I’m sure it won’t.” He passed to the door. “Good-bye, Forsyth,” said Pomeroy. “And many, many thanks. For takin’ other people’s bulls by the horns you have no equal.” Belinda laughed mischievously. “Whose bull did you take this morning?” she said. “No one’s,” said Forsyth. “I took a lady by the hand and a soldier by the arm, and the three of us did some reading between the lines.” “What did I say you should have been?”