“The very man I’ve been wanting to see for the last week or more,” said Tuttle to the elder Keymer, next time they met. “Rather a curious thing happened to me about ten days ago, which I want to tell you about. I’ll turn and walk part of the way with you, if you don’t mind. Well, you must know that one forenoon I had occasion to visit the strong room which opens out of the governor’s private office, in order to obtain some title-deeds which were wanted, but which I was not at once able to find, owing to their having been misplaced. While thus engaged, the governor rang his bell for Mr. Dix, the managing clerk. I suppose the old boy, who is beginning to break up, and whose memory fails him strangely at times, had quite forgotten that I was there within hearing. But be that as it may, he proceeded to give Dix instructions for the drawing up of a couple of wills, the particulars of which he was to keep strictly to himself. The wills in question were those of the two Miss Thursbys of Vale View House. The governor talks in a low voice, and mumbles a good deal, so that I was not able to catch all he said; but I picked up enough to satisfy myself that, with the exception of a few hundreds, to be distributed amongst various charities, an annuity to an old servant, and a few minor legacies, the whole of the property of both sisters is bequeathed to the young lady known as Miss Ethel Thursby—their niece, I believe she is. Of course, I can only make a rough guess as to the value of the property in question, which seems to consist chiefly of securities of various kinds; but there’s no doubt in my mind that, if realised, it would mount up to a respectable number of thousands. That being the case, Cousin Bob, it might be worth your boy’s while to make up to the heiress, who is, I believe, a very pretty girl into the bargain. But not a word to a soul of what I’ve just told you, unless you want me to lose my berth and be ruined for life.” The hint thus afforded was too precious not to be followed up and acted upon. Launce Keymer had already been introduced to Ethel, he having met her on two or three occasions at garden parties and other gatherings of young people. He had admired her for the time being, as he admired every pretty girl he met, and had thought no more about her. Truth to tell, Ethel was not the kind of girl to attract more than a passing glance of admiration from the brewer’s son. She was too quietly dignified and “stand-offish”; she was lacking in dash and “go”; she was one of those girls whom he felt instinctively it would be unwise to talk slang to; there was something about her which, when in her company, compelled him to be upon his best behaviour; he never felt quite what he termed “at home” with her; as a consequence of which, while always smilingly polite to her, he had rather shunned than sought her society.