“As,” he announced, “Mr. Allinson died abroad too far away for any of his relatives or friends to attend the funeral, it has been thought well that now, when they are convened together in his house, they may like to hear what his wishes were with regard to the disposition of his estate and the settlement of his affairs. It was fortunate that he was able to put these wishes in order before his illness had made that impossible; the document is properly signed and attested and bears every indication of cool judgment. With your permission I will now read it.” I had never been present before at the reading of a will, and I am glad not to have had the experience since. It is too dramatic. Why more plays do not contain a will scene, I cannot understand. But the dramatic quality is not all. My objection to such a ceremony is the disappointment that one has to witness, and perhaps even more the triumph. Poor human nature’s expressions of joy on coming into a few hundred pounds can be an almost tragic spectacle. Theodore Allinson had remembered most of his relations and all of his dependents. Such benefactions came first. “‘The remainder of the estate,’ the lawyer read on, ‘I leave in trust to my daughter Rose, to be administered as they think best by her trustees George Stratton and Julius Greville, until her twentieth birthday, when it will be hers to do as she wishes with.’” The lawyer paused again and Mrs. Stratton indicated her approval of at any rate one of the trustees by a guarded smile. “‘Finally,’” the lawyer went on, “‘I ask my friend and neighbour Julius Greville to become my daughter’s guardian and foster-father.’” At these words a rustle of astonishment ran round the room, and no one could have been more astonished than myself. Mrs. Stratton did more than rustle: she bridled and shot me a furious glance. “Did you hear that, George?” she asked her husband in a loud whisper. “If you please,” said the lawyer, and continued: “‘guardian and foster-father, reimbursing himself from her estate for every expense which that duty imposes upon him, from the present time until she shall become, on her twentieth birthday, her own mistress.’” He paused again, and again the company sought each other’s faces. Mrs. Stratton was scarlet with indignation. “Why, that’s thirteen years!” she exclaimed. “But supposing that Dr. Greville, not unnaturally, is unwilling to take so great a responsibility?” Mr. Stratton asked, after a little whispered coaching from his wife.