Mr. Collings was stout, bald, given to afternoon naps; Mr. Cathcart was thin, narrow-faced, not so bald, and never slept at all, so far as anybody knew. He hated orphans. They stood for questions of _cestui que use_, problems of _cy-pres_, perplexities of _donatio mortis causa_ and the Guardianship of Infants Act. He never saw an orphan without his hand going instinctively to his hip pocket. “And the most irregular orphan I have ever met,” continued Mr. William Cathcart remorselessly. “An infant in law with a bank balance of a hundred thousand! I refuse to drop a tear--positively!” Mr. Collings wiped his eyes. “She _is_ an orphan,” he insisted. “Mrs. Tetherby gave her the money during her lifetime: there is nothing irregular in that. If I gave an--an orphan”--he swallowed hard--“a penny, a pound--a thousand--is that a breach of the law, an impropriety, even though it is practised _de die in diem_?” Mr. Cathcart considered. “You might in certain circumstances be acting _de sont tort_,” he said. Mr. Collings pondered this; found the term almost inapplicable, but not so much so that he could be offensive in a gentlemanly way. Wisely he returned to lamb. “Mrs. Tetherby was inert. Stout women are often inert----” “Lazy,” suggested the dyspeptic Cathcart. “She was fond of Diana. Few aunts are fond of nieces. Her will proves that. She left everything----” “There was nothing to leave,” interrupted Mr. William Cathcart with sour satisfaction. How that man hated orphans! “There was nothing to leave because in her lifetime she gave Diana full control of her money.” “She was inert,” murmured Mr. Collings. “She loved this orphan child----” “If there was one woman in the world who ought never to have been allowed----” “Never ought have been,” corrected Mr. Collings gently. “--to have charge of a girl of Diana Ford’s temperament, it is or was Mrs. Tetherby. A child of sixteen who has a raging love affair with a student----” “A theological student,” insisted Mr. Collings. “Don’t forget that. A young woman may well feel that she could give her heart to a theological student when a medical student would have revolted all that was most sensitive in her nature.” “A theological student makes it worse.” “At least Mrs. Tetherby consulted us on that matter.” Mr. Collings was a shade reproachful. “Inert or energetic, she consulted us.” “She consulted us to discover whether she would be liable to trial for murder if she waylaid and shot Mr. Dempsi. She said that she had set a dog on to him, but he was incapable of taking a hint. Those were her words.” “Dempsi is dead,” said Mr. Collings in a hushed voice. “I spoke to Diana on the subject only eight months ago--when her dear aunt died. I asked her if the wound had left a scar. She said she scarcely remembered a scratch, and that she often amused herself in the evenings by trying to draw him from memory.” “A heartless little devil,” said Mr. Cathcart.