Miss Spilling had lingered, anxious to know all about these strangers. Every day made Miss Spilling more and more solicitous upon the all-important question of Miss Glenlyne’s will. She had reason to suppose that her interests were cared for in that document. But advancing age did not increase Miss Glenlyne’s wisdom. Some base intruder, arriving late upon the scene, might undo the slow work of years, and thrust himself between Miss Glenlyne’s legitimate heirs and their heritage. Just as a horse which has been kept well in hand in the early part of a race comes in with a rush as winner at the finish. In the presence of these unknown intruders Miss Spilling scented danger. She ignored her mistress’s behest, and came over to the easy-chair, moved a little table near it, picked up a fallen newspaper, and hovered over Miss Glenlyne with tenderest solicitude. ‘It’s just upon the time for your chicken broth,’ she said. ‘My chicken broth can wait until I require it,’ replied Miss Glenlyne curtly. ‘You can go, my dear; I want a little private talk with this lady and gentleman.’ Miss Spilling retired meekly, but troubled of heart. There is nothing easier than to alter a will. Yet Miss Spilling felt it was wisest to obey. Surely the patient service of years was not to be set at naught for some new fancy. But age is apt to be capricious, fickle even; and Miss Spilling was not blind to the fact that there were seasons when Miss Glenlyne considered her a bore. ‘You are not so amusing as you were fifteen years ago, Spilling,’ Miss Glenlyne would sometimes remark candidly; and Miss Spilling could but admit that fifteen years of a solitude scarcely less profound than the loneliness of a Carthusian monastery had not tended to enliven her spirits. She had come to Miss Glenlyne charged with all the gossip picked up in a half a dozen previous situations, and little by little she had exhausted her fund of frivolity and slander, and told her servants’-hall stories till they were threadbare. Who could be sure that Miss Glenlyne would not be beguiled by some new favourite, even at the very end of her career? Sedulously had Miss Spilling striven to guard against this ever-present peril by keeping poor relations, old friends, and strangers alike at bay. But to-day she felt herself worsted, and retired to her own apartment depressed and apprehensive. If the folding-doors had been closed she might have gone into the back drawing-room and listened; but the folding-doors were open. Miss Glenlyne liked a palm-house atmosphere, but she liked space for an occasional constitutional promenade, so the back drawing-room was never shut off. Miss Spilling lingered a little by the landing door, but heard only indistinct murmurs, and feared to loiter long, lest she should be caught in the act by the parlourmaid Susan, who was fleet of foot.