Mr. Norris raised a detaining hand. "One moment, please. I assume you entertain no doubt of Madam Crewe’s mental competency? That she is of sound mind, capable of acting rationally on her own behalf? That any will and testament she might choose to execute at this time would be above suspicion of mistake, fraud, or undue influence?" For a moment Katherine seemed to consider. Then her lip curled. "If you mean, am I likely in the future to contest any will my grandmother may now make to my disadvantage, I say no. I will never dispute her course, whatever direction it may take. All I ask is that she will not dispute mine. I am only sorry that they seem to diverge so completely. I am sick of the name of money. I would say I am sick of the sight of it—but I have never seen any——" with which parting thrust, the girl turned on her heel, and left the room. She went none too soon, for the moment the door closed upon her, her self-control gave way, and she groped stumblingly to her own chamber blinded by tears, choking back the sobs that were in themselves a humiliation. The three she had left, were silent when she had gone, until Mr. Norris drew an important-looking sheet from under a mass of papers at his elbow, and addressed Mrs. Slawson. "As a general rule I strongly advise you, or any one, against placing your signature to any instrument which you have not previously read and do not fully understand. In this case, however, there is absolutely no harm. Please call the other witness." Martha took a step toward the door. "If I put my writin’ on that paper, it won’t mean I’m injurin’—anybody?" she demanded firmly. "You have my word as to that." "I’d never sign it, if it was to hurt Miss Katherine." "Your placing your signature there cannot affect Miss Crewe’s interests one way or the other." Martha summoned Eunice Youngs, and the two, in their best manner, literally with great pains, proceeded to affix their names as witnesses to the last and testament of Idea Stryker Crewe. *CHAPTER IX* It was late one evening at the end of the week, when Sam came back, to Martha’s surprise, alone. "Ma just wouldn’t leave the city," he explained. "She’s staying at Dennis’s now, but Sarah told me she couldn’t keep her above a week or so, at the longest. She said Andy, or Hughey, or one of the girls would be better able to look after her than Dennis and herself, who have all they can manage paying off on their house in Yonkers, and the children to educate besides. Sarah was quite short with me on account of Ma. She said she was real put out. We’d no business leaving an old woman, Ma’s age, away from the country such hot weather, especially when we were just getting on our feet now, and were well able to give her a home without feeling it." Martha smiled tolerantly. "There’d be no time o’ year’d suit Sarah for takin’ any more trouble than she’s got to," she observed, pouring her husband’s tea.