and this woman was fine, in the sense that makes you feel that she is lovable. She was young, eager-looking. I have no doubt her features were handsome, but it was her open, almost childlike expression which attracted most. She was essentially a fine creature, and yet there was a peculiar childish innocence about her, that made old Sandy long to protect her on the spot. I was looking at her, and hoping she would not notice it and think old Sandy Wilson a bore, when a man came into the room and said something to the clerk at the desk. The clerk turned to me and said, 'The will of the name of Harman is being read at this moment by some one else in the room.' Instantly this girl looked up, her eyes met mine, her face grew all one blaze of color, though she was a pale enough lass the moment before, and a frightened expression came into her eyes. She looked down again at once, and went on reading in a hurried, puzzled way, as if she was scarcely taking in much. Of course I knew she had the will, and I did not want to hurry or confuse her, so I pretended to turn my attention to something else. It must have been quite a couple of minutes before I looked again, and then--I confess that I am not easily startled, but I did have to smother an exclamation--the poor girl must have discovered the baseness and the fraud in those two minutes. Had she been any other but the plucky lass she is, she would have been in a dead faint on the floor, for I never, never in all my pretty vast experience, saw a living face so white. I could not help looking at her then, for I was completely fascinated. She went on reading for half a minute longer; then she raised her eyes and gazed straight and full at me. She had big, open gray eyes, and a moment before, they were full of innocence and trust like a child's, now there was a wild anger and despair in them. She was quite quiet however, and no one else in the room noticed her. She pushed the will across the table to me and said, "That is Mr. Harman's will," then she put on her gloves quite slowly and drew down her veil, and left the room as sedately and quietly as you please. I just glanced my eye over the will. I took in the right place and saw the shameful truth. I was horrified enough, but I could not wait to read it all. I gave the will back intending to go to it another time, for I felt I must follow that girl at any cost. I came up to her in Somerset House square. I did not care what she thought; I must speak to her; I did. Poor lass! I think she was quite stunned. She did not resent the liberty old Sandy had taken. When I asked her to wait and let me talk to her she turned at once--I have not lived in the bush so long without being, I pride myself, sharp enough in reading character. I saw the girl, proud girl enough at ordinary times, was in that state of despair which makes people do desperate things. She was defiant, and told more than I expected. She was Miss Harman--Charlotte Harman, by the way, she said.