“I should, very much,” replied the girl, “and I’ll get a bed at an hotel for to-night. Perhaps you can tell me of one?” She had risen to go. “Sit down and have another cup of tea,” said the Canon with a smile. “I’ll be back in a minute or two.” He came back with his wife. Mrs. Fittleworth greeted the girl warmly. “You poor thing!” she said; “my husband has just told me about you. I’m so sorry. But you mustn’t think of going to an hotel. Do let us put you up for the night.” “It’s very kind of you.” “Nonsense. Of course you will stay with us. Come along, you must be very tired.” She took the girl out of the room, and the two men were left together. The Canon looked inquiringly at Anthony Crosby. The latter took a cigarette from his case, tapped it deliberately, lighted it, and began. “I was going to tell you about Miss Cotterill, anyhow,” he said. “From all I have gathered, you know very little of your late cousin?” “Very little indeed. I so rarely saw him. And he was a reticent man. I really know nothing at all about his affairs.” The lawyer nodded. “Yes,” he agreed, “he was distinctly reticent, I know. I suppose _I_ know as much as anyone, and that isn’t a great deal. Now, about this girl—I speak in confidence, of course?” “Of course.” “Well, Templeton—like most men—had a romance in his life.” “He never married.” “No,” said the lawyer deliberately, “the other man did that—it was years ago now.” “Who was the woman?” asked the Canon, his curiosity aroused. “This girl’s mother,” replied Crosby. “That is as much as he told me. She was left a widow when Winifred was about five years old—as far as I understand.” “Why didn’t he marry her then?” The lawyer smiled grimly. “I always consider that parsons, doctors and we lawyers have more chances of knowing about human nature than the rest of the world. And you ought to know that very often when a man doesn’t get his first chance of marrying the woman he loves, he won’t take a second chance when it comes. That’s the only answer I can give you.” “Yes—it’s often true,” said the Canon thoughtfully. “I’ve seen it more than once.” “Exactly. Well, the fact remains that Templeton didn’t marry Mrs. Cotterill. But he stood by her and her child. The girl has told you he paid for her training as an art student.” The Canon nodded. “Just so. Well, before he went abroad to South Africa he came to me and asked me to draw up his will. I have it at my office. If there isn’t a later one, of course, it stands good for probate.” “I see.” Crosby flicked the ash off his cigarette and smiled at the Canon. “I’m afraid you won’t benefit by it,” he said. Canon Fittleworth laughed. “It’s no disappointment,” he replied; “I never expected anything.” “Then I hope that, as his nearest relative, as I suppose you are, you won’t be envious when I tell you he has left everything he possesses to this girl—Winifred Cotterill.”