"You are aware," said Mr Trump, looking Markworth full in the face, "that the late Roger Hartshorne, deceased"--he smacked out his adjectives with an oily gusto, did Mr Trump--"Deceased;" he repeated the word as if loth to abandon it, "left his daughter Susan the sum of twenty thousand pounds sterling, free of legacy duty, to be inherited by her on her arriving at the age of twenty-one years; or, should she marry before arriving at the said age of twenty-one years, and after she had attained the age of eighteen years, _providing_ that the said marriage should be sanctioned, and by the express will and consent of her mother, if alive, or in case of her death by an appointed guardian, a certain Doctor Richard Jolly, as mentioned in the will of the Testator, then and in such case she was to receive the annual interest at the rate of five per cent, per annum, chargeable on the property of the Testator, until she should arrive at the said age of twenty-one years, when she would be put in possession of all right, title, and interest whatever in the said sum of twenty thousand pounds, free of legacy duty. I believe that's the wording of the will?" "My dear sir," interrupted Markworth, blandly, "what on earth are you repeating all that legal gibberish to me for? I knew all that long ago." "I've no doubt, sir, no doubt of _that_. You are a man of the world, Mr Markworth, like myself, and you'll pardon my hinting that you probably took a glance at this self-same will before committing yourself in the matrimonial noose with our rustic young friend. Ha! ha!" And Mr Trump laughed a taking, "good joke" sort of laugh. So genial was he, in fact, that Markworth could not help joining in the laugh, and thought himself a very smart and clever fellow indeed. "You're a sharp fellow, Mr Trump," he said roguishly, giving Mr Trump a metaphorical poke in the ribs. "A sharp fellow! a sharp fellow!" chorused Mr Sequence; and the three were all at once laughing cordially together, as friendly as you please. What charming agreeable fellows dentists are: what capital jokes they make, and what highly seasoned anecdotes they retail just before drawing out a tooth. Mr Trump was now going to produce his pliers; he had had them concealed in the professional way up his sleeve all this time. "Pardon me, Mr Markworth," he said, all at once, when the chuckle had died out, turning grave and business-like once more. "Pardon me, but what I was reading from that will has a good deal to do with what I am now going to say. Supposing that I admitted for argument's sake, only as a mere figure of speech so to say, that Susan Hartshorne when she married you was perfectly sane, and was not coerced into the measure against her will?" "Ha! you admit that." "I don't admit it at all, my dear sir; I only used it just for mere argument's sake."