Among all the outstanding figures in Blackhampton his was perhaps the least attractive. His name, in polite circles, was almost a byword, for he never studied the feelings of anybody; he deferred only to his own will and invariably took the shortest way to enforce it. There was generally a covert laugh or a covert sneer at the mention of his name and the house he had recently built on The Rise had set a seal upon his unpopularity. Nevertheless, the people who knew him best respected him most. His sister-in-law knew him very well indeed. Maria poured out a second cup of tea rather nervously for Josiah to whom Miss Preston handed it archly. "No cake, thanks. I dussent." He tapped his chest significantly; then he cast a complacent glance through the wide-flung drawing-room windows to the fair pleasaunce beyond. "So you think, Gert, take it altogether, this is a cut above Waterloo Villa, eh?" Gertrude's only answer to such a question was a discreet laugh. "Waterloo Villa was _so_ comfortable," sighed the depressed lady in puce silk. "But there's no comparison, Maria, really no comparison." It was wonderful how the caressing touch of the woman of the world dispersed the cloud upon Josiah's brow almost before it had time to gather. "Of course there isn't, Gerty. Any one with a grain o' sense knows that. Why, only this morning as I went down in the tram with Lawyer Mossop, he said, 'Mr. Munt, this new house of yours is quite the pick of the basket.'" "It is, Josiah." The discreet voice rose to enthusiasm. "And no one knows that better than Maria." The lady in puce silk gave a little sigh and a little sniff. "Waterloo Villa was quite good enough for _me_," she murmured tactlessly. V There was silence for a moment and then said Josiah: "Talking of Lawyer Mossop--that reminds me. I'm going round to see him. I wonder what time he gets back from his office." He looked at his watch. "Quarter past five. Bit too soon, I suppose." Maria ventured to ask what he wanted Lawyer Mossop for. Josiah did not answer the question immediately. When he did answer it his voice had such a depth of emotion that both ladies felt as if a knife had been plunged suddenly into their flesh. "I'm goin' to take our Sally out of my will." There was something almost terrible in the sternness and finality of the words. The depressed lady in puce silk gave a gasp. A moment afterwards large tears began to drip freely from her eyes. Aunt Gerty sat very upright on a satinwood chair, her hands folded in front of her, and two prominent teeth showing beyond a line of extremely firm lips. She didn't speak. "Nice thing"--each word was slowly distilled from a feeling of outrage that was almost unbearable--"to be made the talk and the mark of the whole city. And after what I've done for that gel! School--college--France--Germany--your advice, you know, Gerty----" Aunt Gerty didn't speak.