Mechanically she pulled at the upper left-hand drawer where she had kept her note books and pencils, but it was locked. And she didn't have the key. She had sent it by Al from the hospital. Miss Gerson walked briskly to the desk. "Oh," she said, "Miss Connor, you're back." "Yes. How do you do!" They shook hands. "That's fine--you do look a little pale--we were all so sorry to hear of your illness. I've been your understudy," she gave a little sigh, "using your desk. I'm afraid its cluttered up with my things. If I'd only known you were returning to-day I'd have left it spick and span for you." She took out the key and unlocked the master drawer, which released the others, and removed her notebook, pencils, erasers, some picture postal cards, a broken-crystalled lady's watch, an apple and a book on etiquette. "I think the old man's just fine to work for, don't you!" she asked as she collected her belongings. "Indeed I do," said Georgia jealously. "Will you be at the club for lunch to-day?" "Indeed I will," responded Miss Gerson, departing. The telephone tinkled on Georgia's desk. "Hello," came the voice, "is this Miss Gerson?" "Did you wish to speak to her personally?" "I wish to speak with Miss Gerson, Mr. Tatton's secretary." "This is his secretary," said Georgia. "This is St. Luke's hospital," said the voice. "Mr. Tatton wants you to take a cab and come right down here to see him, and say--hello--I'm not through--bring your typewriter. Right away." The old man was propped up in a chair, fully dressed, when Georgia arrived. "Oh, Miss Connor," he said when he saw her, "I wasn't expecting you. All the better, though. Glad you're well again. I'm not." He held his hand to his side and seemed to have difficulty with his breathing. "Take this," he said. "Date it and write: Codicil. And I hereby declare and publish, being of sound mind and body, and in the presence of witnesses, that I do now revoke and cancel and make of no effect and void, in whole and in part, the clause numbered seven--then put also figure seven in parenthesis--in the foregoing instrument, will and testament of date July second, nineteen hundred and five. I expressly withdraw and withhold all the bequests therein made, named and stipulated." Georgia took his words directly on the machine. A nurse and an interne witnessed his signature. "Now," said the old man, "take this in shorthand, to my wife, care Platz & Company, Bankers, 18 Rue Scribe, Paris, France. "Dear Marion: Except for those three pleasant days last summer we haven't seen each other for six years, and as you will know long before you read this, we shan't see each other alive again. "I deeply regret that, especially of later years, our marriage has been so unsuccessful. I apprehend clearly that the fault lay with me insofar as I--quote--had grown so very prosy--end quote--as you remarked last summer.