Foster advanced the sheet of paper, on the blotting-pad, and a pen, newly dipped in ink. To the pen the sick man paid no heed. 'The will?' 'Here is the will.' 'Give it--to me.' The lawyer held out the sheet of paper. The sick man took it, and tore it in half. It was rather a niggling process: he made one or two abortive attempts. But the result was unmistakable. Two crumpled fragments represented the document which Foster had deemed of such importance. Its destroyer made a single remark. 'I--hate--wills.' The lawyer's face was a study. There was a common feeling that Violet's behaviour had something to do with what had happened. I think that for little he would have told her so, in language of vigour. Perhaps her own conscience assailed her. She whispered to Reggie: 'What's he torn?' 'His will.' 'His will? What was in it?' 'Everything to me.' 'Everything? Reggie, you don't mean that you'll have nothing then?' 'Not so bad as that.--Hush.' The admonition was only administered in the nick of time. Then came a voice from the bed. 'That girl's ---- tongue! She's a--jade, Reggie!' 'Yes.' 'You'll be a fool--if you marry her. Don't you do it.' Reggie spoke hotly in reply. 'You don't know what you're talking about.' 'You--you--young devil--speak to me like that? Foster.' 'My lord?' Hancock interposed. 'I beg, my lord, that you will not excite yourself.' 'Excite myself! What in thunder do you mean? I'll do--what I please--with myself.' He was illumined by a sudden burst of really vigorous passion; actually raising himself in bed to give it tongue. He spoke with an amount of fluency which after the recent struggle he had made to utter disconnected words was surprising. 'I'm not dead yet, so don't let any one order me about as if I were--curse you, you bald-headed old fool!' This was to Hancock; the top of whose scalp is smooth. 'I'm not going to have my brother mixed up with a bold-faced judy; he's not going to make a girl of whom I disapprove the Marchioness of Twickenham. I tell you, Foster, that if Reggie marries that jade--if he marries--if he----' He stopped as if at a loss for a word. Then a shudder passed all over him; his whole frame became perceptibly rigid; he dropped back, still. Hancock turned to us. 'I think if one of you gentlemen were to take the ladies out. I'm afraid this may be serious.' As we were going, the door opened to admit Dr. Robert White. I welcomed him. 'Dr. White, you are just in time. I don't know if you are known to Sir Gregory Hancock. Your patient has just had a relapse.' The two doctors bent together in consultation over the bed. Edith touched me on the arm. 'Let us wait,' she whispered. Presently Hancock spoke to Reggie. 'My lord marquis, it becomes my painful duty to inform you that your brother is dead.' It was a diplomatic way of announcing the news. Vi, as usual, told the truth with too much candour: 'He was a wicked man; he died as he had lived.' Hancock shook his head.