The old woman’s eyes grew shrewd. "Sometimes wills are contested. Attempts are made to break them on the ground of the testator being old, sick, of unsound mind. If any such thing were to happen in my case, I’d like you to be able to speak up for me, Slawson. Do you see that chest? It has not been opened for sixty-eight years, yet I can tell you, to the last yard, what’s in it. I was seventeen when I locked it fast, and the key’s never been turned in it since. Now, listen! so you can prove if my mind’s intact, my memory good." She reeled off a long table of contents, with hardly a pause. "Now open!" she dictated. The raised lid revealed a mine of treasure, corresponding in character, if not precisely in order, to the given list. India mull, fine as a web, creamy as ivory. Matchless napery in rare old weaves. Bed-linen in uncut lengths. "Enough to make you shiver to think o’ lyin’ between’m," Martha ruminated. Katherine’s hands were almost reverent as, obeying her grandmother’s silent bidding, she lifted bolt after bolt, and laid it aside. "There! That’s what I’m after," exclaimed the old woman at last. "Now, unwrap that blue paper. Careful! Don’t tear it! Is this the sort of _bobbinet_ you mean, Slawson?" Martha leaned forward, her eyes glowed. "I guess Miss Claire’s ain’t the quality this is, but——" "Probably not. _This_ quality isn’t made nowadays." Madam Crewe spoke proudly. "But if you think you can use it (it’s what you call _acrow_ with age instead of dye) you may have enough for one window, and save your money. Katherine, get my yardstick, and the shears, and measure it off where I can see. Give good measure, as I tell you, but no waste. If one window is complete, the difference from the others won’t be noticed." For once, Martha was fairly silenced. The madam appeared too occupied to notice. "Girls are fools," she ruminated. "When I shut that chest I was a girl. I vowed to myself I’d never open it again. I thought it was the coffin in which my happiness was buried. Well, I haven’t opened it. My granddaughter has opened it. Rather a joke, when one thinks of it! Dear, dear, how it all comes back! The anger, the disappointment, the——" her voice grew vague. She pulled herself up sharply. "Before you replace that mull, child, if you’d like enough for a frock, you can have it. In for a penny, in for a pound. ’Twas a fool-girl vow, anyway, made in passion—a lifetime ago.... They’re decking themselves out in lank draperies now, so you’ll be in the style, Katherine. This mull is better and costlier than most of the shoddy silks the shoddy people are wearing these days. It will prove you are no _nouveau riche_. You don’t know what _nouveau riche_ means, do you, Slawson?" Martha paused. "No’m. But I always thought I wouldn’t mind bein’ the _nouveau_, whatever it is, if I just had a try at the _riche_."