The lawyer pressed forward hurriedly. "Why, Mrs. Maxwell, weren't you
coming in? Isn't there something I can do for you?" said he.

"No, thank you," replied the old lady, shortly. "I've got to go home;
it's my tea-time. I was goin' by, and I thought I'd jest look in a
minute; that was all. It wa'n't anything. Good-evenin'." She was
half down the walk before she finished speaking. She never looked
around.

The lawyer turned to Mrs. Field. "Mrs. Henry Maxwell was not any too
much please to see you sitting here," he whispered, with a
confidential smile. "She wouldn't say anything; she's as proud as
Lucifer; but she was considerably taken aback."

Mrs. Field nodded. She felt numb. She had not understood who this
other woman was. She knew now--the mother of the young woman who was
the rightful heir to Thomas Maxwell's property.

"The old lady has been pretty anxious," Mr. Tuxbury went on. "She's
been in here a good many times--made excuses to come in and see if I
had any news. She has been twice as much concerned as her daughter
about it. Well, she has had a pretty hard time. That branch of the
family lost a good deal of property."

Mrs. Field rose abruptly. "I guess I'd better be goin'," said she.
"It must be your tea-time. I'll come in again to-morrow."

The lawyer put up his hand deprecatingly. "Mrs. Maxwell, you will, of
course, stay and take tea with us, and remain with us to-night."