“Your ever loving, “MOTHER CAREY.” “What does it all mean?” cried the bewildered girl. “It means,” said the lawyer, “that Mrs. Brownlow has discovered a will of the late Mr. Barnes more recent than that under which she inherited, naming you, Miss Elvira Menella, as the sole inheritrix.” “My dear child, let me be the first to congratulate you on your recovery of your rights,” said Mrs. Gould, again proffering an embrace, but again the whip was interposed, while Elvira, with her eyes fixed on Mr. Wakefield, asked “What?” so that he had to repeat the explanation. “Then does it all belong to me?” she asked. “Eventually it will, Miss Menella. You are sole heiress to your great uncle, though you cannot enter into possession till certain needful forms of law are gone through. Mrs. Brownlow offers no obstruction, but they cannot be rapid.” “All mine!” repeated Elvira, with childish exultation. “What fun! I must go and tell Sydney Evelyn.” “A few minutes more, Miss Menella,” said Mr. Wakefield. “You ought to hear the terms of the will.” And he read it to her. “I thought you told me it was to be mine. This is all you and uncle George.” “As your trustees.” “Oh, to manage as the Colonel does. You will give me all the money I ask you for. I want some pearls, and I must have that duck of a little Arab. Uncle George, how soon can I have it?” “We must go through the Probate Court,” he began, but his wife interrupted-- “Ways and means will be forthcoming, my dear, though for my part I think it would be much better taste in Mrs. Brownlow to put you in possession at once.” “Mr. Wakefield explained, my dear,” said her husband, “that, much as Mrs. Brownlow wishes to do so, she cannot; she has no power. It is her trustees.” “Oh yes, I know every excuse will be found for retaining the property as long as possible,” said the lady. “Then I shall have to wait ever so long,” said the young lady. “And I do so want the Arab. It is a real love, and Allen would say so.” “I have another letter for you,” said Mr. Wakefield, on hearing that name. “We will leave it with you. If you wish for further information, I would call immediately on receiving a line at my office.” Just then a message was brought from Mrs. Evelyn inviting Miss Menella’s friends to stay to luncheon. It incited Elvira, who knew neither awe nor manners, to run across the great drawing-room, leaving the doors open behind her, to the little morning-room, where sat Mrs. Evelyn, with Sydney, in her habit standing by the mantelpiece. “Oh, Mrs. Evelyn,” Elvira began, “it is Mr. Wakefield and my uncle and his wife. They have come to say it is all mine; Uncle Barnes left it all to me.” “So I hear from Mrs. Brownlow,” said Mrs. Evelyn gravely. “Oh, Elfie, I am so sorry for you. Don’t you hate it?” cried Sydney. “Oh, but it is such fun! I can do everything I please,” said the heiress. “Yes, that’s the best part,” said Sydney. “I do envy you the day when you give it all back to Allen.”