The old gentleman was standing beside Mr. Woods in the vestibule of Selwoode, some distance from the other members of the house-party, and was speaking in confidence. He was sincere; I don't say that the thought of facing the world at sixty-five with practically no resources save his half-pay--I think I have told you that the Colonel's diversions had drunk up his wife's fortune and his own like a glass of water--I don't say that this thought moved him to hilarity. Over it, indeed, he pulled a frankly grave face. But he cared a deal for Billy; and even now there was balm--soothing, priceless balm--to be had of the reflection that this change in his prospects affected materially the prospects of those cultured, broad-minded, philanthropic persons who had aforetime set his daughter to requiring of him a perusal of Herbert Spencer. Billy was pretty well aware how monetary matters stood with the old wastrel; and the sincerity of the man affected him far more than the most disinterested sentiments would have done. Mr. Woods accordingly shook hands, with entirely unnecessary violence. "You're a trump, that's what you are!" he declared; "oh, yes, you are, Colonel! You're an incorrigible, incurable old ace of trumps--the very best there is in the pack--and it's entirely useless for you to attempt to conceal it." "Gad----!" said the Colonel. "And don't you worry about that will," Mr. Woods advised. "I--I can't explain things just now, but it's all right. You just wait--just wait till I've seen Peggy," Billy urged, in desperation, "and I'll explain everything." "By gad----!" said the Colonel. But Mr. Woods was half-way out of the vestibule. Mr. Woods was in an unenviable state of perturbation. He could not quite believe that Peggy had destroyed the will; the thing out-Heroded Herod, out-Margareted Margaret. But if she had, it struck him as a high-handed proceeding, entailing certain vague penalties made and provided by the law to cover just such cases--penalties of whose nature he was entirely ignorant and didn't care to think. Heavens! for all he knew, that angel might have let herself in for a jail sentence. Billy pictured that queen among women! that paragon! with her glorious hair cropped and her pink-tipped little hands set to beating hemp--he had a shadowy notion that the lives of all female convicts were devoted to this pursuit--and groaned in horror.