"Sir Hubert never struck me as insane," retorted Jarwin, putting the disputed will into his black leather bag. "A man who can make two million pounds in so short a space of time can scarcely be called crazy." "But this masquerading as a gypsy and a burglar," urged Garvington irritably. "He was actually a gypsy, remember, my lord, and it was natural that he should wish occasionally to get back to the life he loved. As to his being a burglar, I venture to disagree with you. He had some reason to visit this house at the hour and in the manner he did, and doubtless if he had lived he would have explained. But whatever might have been his motive, Lord Garvington, I am certain it was not connected with robbery." "Well," snapped the fat little man candidly, "if I had known that Pine was such a blighter as to leave me nothing, I'm hanged if I'd have allowed him to be buried in such decent company." "Freddy, Freddy, the poor man is dead. Let him rest," said Lady Garvington, who looked more limp and untidy than ever. "I wish he was resting somewhere else than in my vault. A damned gypsy!" "And my husband," said Lady Agnes sharply. "Don't forget that, Garvington." "I wish I could forget it. Much use he has been to us." "_You_ have no cause to complain," said his sister with a meaning glance, and Garvington suddenly subsided. "Won't you say something, Noel?" asked Lady Garvington dismally. "I don't see what there is to say," he rejoined, not lifting his eyes from the ground. "There you are wrong," remarked Agnes with a sudden flush. "There is a very great deal to say, but this is not the place to say it. Mr. Jarwin," she rose to her feet, looking a queenly figure in her long black robes, "you can return to town and later will receive my instructions." The lawyer looked hard at her marble face, wondering whether she would choose the lover or the money. It was a hard choice, and a very difficult position. He could not read in her eyes what she intended to do, so mutely bowed and took a ceremonious departure, paying a silent tribute to the widow's strength of mind. "Poor thing; poor thing," thought the solicitor, "I believe she loves her cousin. It is hard that she can only marry him at the cost of becoming a pauper. A difficult position for her, indeed. H'm! she'll hold on to the money, of course; no woman would be such a fool as to pay two millions sterling for a husband." In relation to nine women out of ten, this view would have been a reasonable one to take, but Agnes happened to be the tenth, who had the singular taste--madness some would have called it--to prefer love to hard cash. Still, she made no hasty decision, seeing that the issues involved in her renunciation were so great. Garvington, showing a characteristic want of tact, began to argue the question almost the moment Jarwin drove away from The Manor, but his sister promptly declined to enter into any discussion.