"A great deal too much to squander or lose in one night," remarked Mr. Brightman. "Here," added he, unlocking a deep drawer in his desk, "put your bag in here, and come for it on Monday." George Coney drew the bag from his pocket, but not without a few remonstrative shakes of the head, and put it in the drawer. Mr. Brightman locked it, and restored the bunch of keys to his pocket. "You are worse than my father is," cried George Coney, half in jest, half vexed at having yielded. "I wouldn't be as close and stingy for anything." "In telling this story twenty years hence, Mr. George, you will say, What a simpleton I should have made of myself, if that cautious old lawyer Brightman had not been close and stingy!" George Coney winked at me and laughed. "Perhaps he's right, after all." "I know I am," said Mr. Brightman. "Will you take a glass of sherry?" "Well; no, I think I had better not. I have had almost enough already, and I want to carry clear eyes with me to the play. What time does it begin?" "About seven, I think; but I am not a theatre-goer myself. Strange can tell you." "Then I shall be off," said he, shaking hands with us, as only a hearty country yeoman knows how to. He had scarcely gone when Sir Edmund Clavering's knock was heard. Mr. Brightman went with him into the front room, and I sat reading the _Times_. Leah, by the way, had made herself presentable, and looked tidy enough in a clean white cap and apron. Sir Edmund did not stay long: he left about seven. I heard Mr. Brightman go back after showing him out, and rake the fire out of the grate--he was always timidly cautious about fire--and then he returned to my room. "No wonder Sir Edmund wanted to see me," cried he. "There's the deuce of a piece of work down at his place. His cousin wants to dispute the will and to turn him out. They have been serving notices on the tenants not to pay the rent." "What a curious woman she must be!" Mr. Brightman smiled slightly, but made no answer. "He did not stay long, sir." "No, he is going out to dinner." As Mr. Brightman spoke, he turned up the gas, drew his chair to the desk and sat down, his back then being towards the fire. "I must look over these letters and copies of notices which Sir Edmund brought with him, and has left with me," he remarked. "I don't care to go home directly." The next minute he was absorbed in the papers. I put down the _Times_, and rose. "You do not want me, I suppose, Mr. Brightman," I said. "I promised Arthur Lake to go to his chambers for an hour." "I don't want you, Charles. Mind you are not late in coming down to me to-morrow morning."