Mrs. Watson had been glad enough, I think, to turn Louise over to our care, and Thomas went upstairs night and morning to greet his young mistress from the doorway. Poor Thomas! He had the faculty—found still in some old negroes, who cling to the traditions of slavery days—of making his employer’s interest his. It was always “we” with Thomas; I miss him sorely; pipe-smoking, obsequious, not over reliable, kindly old man! On Thursday Mr. Harton, the Armstrongs’ legal adviser, called up from town. He had been advised, he said, that Mrs. Armstrong was coming east with her husband’s body and would arrive Monday. He came with some hesitation, he went on, to the fact that he had been further instructed to ask me to relinquish my lease on Sunnyside, as it was Mrs. Armstrong’s desire to come directly there. I was aghast. “Here!” I said. “Surely you are mistaken, Mr. Harton. I should think, after—what happened here only a few days ago, she would never wish to come back.” “Nevertheless,” he replied, “she is most anxious to come. This is what she says. ‘Use every possible means to have Sunnyside vacated. Must go there at once.’” “Mr. Harton,” I said testily, “I am not going to do anything of the kind. I and mine have suffered enough at the hands of this family. I rented the house at an exorbitant figure and I have moved out here for the summer. My city home is dismantled and in the hands of decorators. I have been here one week, during which I have had not a single night of uninterrupted sleep, and I intend to stay until I have recuperated. Moreover, if Mr. Armstrong died insolvent, as I believe was the case, his widow ought to be glad to be rid of so expensive a piece of property.” The lawyer cleared his throat. “I am very sorry you have made this decision,” he said. “Miss Innes, Mrs. Fitzhugh tells me Louise Armstrong is with you.” “She is.” “Has she been informed of this—double bereavement?” “Not yet,” I said. “She has been very ill; perhaps to-night she can be told.” “It is very sad; very sad,” he said. “I have a telegram for her, Mrs. Innes. Shall I send it out?” “Better open it and read it to me,” I suggested. “If it is important, that will save time.” There was a pause while Mr. Harton opened the telegram. Then he read it slowly, judicially. “‘Watch for Nina Carrington. Home Monday. Signed F. L. W.’” “Hum!” I said. “‘Watch for Nina Carrington. Home Monday.’ Very well, Mr. Harton, I will tell her, but she is not in condition to watch for any one.” “Well, Miss Innes, if you decide to—er—relinquish the lease, let me know,” the lawyer said. “I shall not relinquish it,” I replied, and I imagined his irritation from the way he hung up the receiver.