Ingate faintly.

"Let 'em try!" said Mr. Foulger, who wished that the National Reformation
Society would indeed try.

Even as he articulated the words, he was aware of Audrey coming towards him
from the direction of the door; he was aware of her black frock and of her
white face, with its bulging forehead and its deliciously insignificant
nose. She held out her hand.

"You are a dear!" she whispered.

Her lips seemed to aim uncertainly for his face. Did they just touch, with
exquisite contact, his bristly chin, or was it a divine illusion? ... She
blushed in a very marked manner. He blinked, and his happy blinking seemed
to say: "Only wills drawn by me are genuine.... Didn't I tell you Mr. Moze
was not a man of business?"

Audrey ran to Miss Ingate.

Mr. Foulger, suddenly ashamed, and determined to be a lawyer, said sharply:

"Has Mrs. Moze made a will?"

"Mother made a will? Oh no!"

"Then she should make one at once, in your favour, of course. No time
should be lost."

"But Mrs. Moze is ill in bed," protested Miss Ingate.