The paper on which he wrote was large blue paper, like that employed by lawyers, and had an air of formality and importance. It was smoothed out over a big blotting-book, not long enough quite to contain it, and had a dog’s-ear at the lower corner, which proved a frequent recurrence on the part of the writer to this favorite manuscript. When he had written all that occurred to him, Mr. Trevor put down his pen and resumed the “Times;” but the interest of the previous occupation carried the day even over that invaluable newspaper, which is as good as a trade to idle persons. He had not gone down a column before he paused, rested his paper on his knee, and chuckled again. Then he leaned over the writing-table and read the note he had made, which was tolerably long; then, with his “Times” in his hand, rose and went to the door, losing himself behind the screen. There he stood for a moment, wrapping his dressing-gown around his thin legs with a shiver, and called for “Ford! Ford!” Presently a reply came, muffled by the distance, from the room below. “I’ve put in another clause,” the old man called over the stair. Ford below opened the door of his parlor to listen. “Bless me! have you indeed, Mr. Trevor?” he replied, with less enthusiasm. “Come up, come up, and you shall hear it,” said the other, fidgeting with excitement. Then he returned to his easy-chair, laughing to himself under his breath. He bent over the document and read it again. “They’ll keep her straight, they’ll keep her straight among them,” he said to himself. “She’ll be clever if she goes wrong after all this,” and then he sat down again, chuckling and tucking the “Times” like a napkin over his knees.