another minute Rothsay's bright face enlivened my dull room. He
had returned from the Mediterranean that morning.

"Am I interrupting you?" he asked, pointing to the leaves of
manuscript before me. "Are you writing a book?"

"I am making my will."

His manner changed; he looked at me seriously.

"Do you remember what I said, when we once talked of your will?"
he asked. I set his doubts at rest immediately--but he was not
quite satisfied yet. "Can't you put your will away?" he
suggested. "I hate the sight of anything that reminds me of
death."

"Give me a minute to sign it," I said--and rang to summon the
witnesses.

Mrs. Mozeen answered the bell. Rothsay looked at her, as if he
wished to have my housekeeper put away as well as my will. From
the first moment when he had seen her, he conceived a great
dislike to that good creature. There was nothing, I am sure,
personally repellent about her. She was a little slim quiet
woman, with a pale complexion and bright brown eyes. Her
movements were gentle; her voice was low; her decent gray dress
was adapted to her age. Why Rothsay should dislike her was more
than he could explain himself. He turned his unreasonable
prejudice into a joke--and said he hated a woman who wore slate
colored cap-ribbons!