"Norman, sir. She has no right to any other name. But I really do not see why I should explain myself to you, sir. If you choose to give this girl your name you will be doing a good act. At present the poor creature is--nobody." She let the last word drop from her lips slowly, so as to give Paul its full sting. Beecot said nothing. He could not dispute what she said. If this woman could prove the marriage of thirty years ago, then Krill, or Norman as he called himself, had committed bigamy, and, in the hard eyes of the law, Sylvia was nobody's child. And that the marriage could be proved Paul saw well enough from the looks of the lawyer, who was studying the certificate which he had drawn from the shabby blue envelope. "Then the will--the money is left to Sylvia," he said with obstinacy. "I shall defend her rights." "Of course," said Mrs. Krill, significantly. "I understand that a wife with five thousand--" "I would marry Sylvia without a penny." "Indeed, sir, that is the only way in which you can marry her. If you like I shall allow her twenty pounds for a trousseau." Paul rose and flung back his head again. "You have not got the money yet, madam," he said defiantly. Not at all disturbed, Mrs. Krill smiled her eternal smile. "I am here to get it. There is a will, you say," she added, turning to Pash. "And I understand from this gentleman," she indicated Beecot slightly, "that the money is left to Mr. Krill's daughter. Does he name Maud or Sylvia?" Pash slapped down the certificate irritably. "He names no one. The will is a hasty document badly worded, and simply leaves all the testator died possessed of to--my daughter." "Which of course means Maud here. I congratulate you, dear," she said, turning to the girl, who looked happy and flushed. "Your father has made up to us both for his cruelty and desertion." Seeing that there was nothing to be said, Paul went to the door. But there his common sense left him and he made a valedictory speech. "I know that Mr. Krill left the money to Sylvia." "Oh, no," said the widow, "to his daughter, as I understand the wording of the will runs. In that case this nameless girl has nothing." "Pash!" cried Beecot, turning despairingly to the little solicitor. The old man shook his head and sucked in his cheeks. "I am sorry, Mr. Beecot," said he, in a pitying tone, "but as the will stands the money must certainly go to the child born in wedlock. I have the certificate here," he laid his monkey paw on it, "but of course I shall make inquiries." "By all means," said Mrs. Krill, graciously. "My daughter and myself have lived for many years in Christchurch, Hants. We keep the inn there--not the principal inn, but a small public-house on the outskirts of the village. It will be a change for us both to come into five thousand a year after such penury. Of course, Mr. Pash, you will act for my daughter and myself."