“Now that we are just among ourselves”—the solicitor was speaking—“I think I may seize the opportunity of saying a word about Mr. Parrish’s will. Miss Trevert, as you know, is made principal legatee, but I understand from her that she does not propose to accept the inheritance. I will not comment on this decision of hers, which does her moral sense, at any rate, infinite credit, but I should observe that Mr. Parrish has left directions for the payment of an allowance—I may say, a most handsome allowance—to Lady Margaret Trevert during her ladyship’s lifetime. This is a provision over which Miss Trevert’s decision, of course, can have no influence. I would only remark that, according to Mr. Parrish’s instructions, this allowance will be paid from the dividends on a percentage of his holdings in Hornaway’s under the new scheme. I have not yet had an opportunity of looking further into Mr. Parrish’s affairs in the light of the information which Mr. Greve obtained in Rotterdam, but I have reason to believe that he kept his interest in Hornaway’s and his—ahem!—other activities entirely separate. If this can be definitely established to my own satisfaction and to yours, my dear Miss Trevert, I see no reason why you should not modify your decision at least in respect of Mr. Parrish’s interest in Hornaway’s.” Mary Trevert looked at Robin and then at the solicitor. “No!” she said; “not a penny as far as I am concerned. With Mother the case is different. I told her last night of my decision in the matter. She disapproves of it. That is why she is not here to-day. But my mind is made up.” Mr. Bardy adjusted his eyeglass in his eye and gazed at the girl. His face wore an expression of pain mingled with compassion. “I will see Lady Margaret after lunch,” he said rather stiffly. Then the door opened and Bude appeared. “Luncheon is served, Miss!” He stood there, a portly, dignified figure in sober black, solemn of visage, sonorous of voice, a living example of the triumph of established tradition over the most savage buffetings of Fate. His enunciation was, if anything, more mellow, his demeanour more pontifical than of yore. Bude was once more in the service of a County Family. THE END