At that moment the sound of carriage wheels came to them. Turning
quickly, Nora saw the carriage containing Mr. and Mrs. Wickham coming up
the drive. "There they are now. How the time has gone!"

"I'd better go, hadn't I?" said Miss Pringle with manifest reluctance.

"I'm afraid you must: I'm sorry."

"Couldn't I go up to your room and wait there? I do so want to know
about the will."

Nora hesitated a moment. She didn't want to take Miss Pringle up to her
bare little room. A sort of loyalty to the woman who was, after all, to
be her benefactress--for was she not, after all, with her legacy, going
to make the happy future pay rich interest for the unhappy past?--made
her reluctant to let anyone know how poorly she had been lodged.

"No," she said; "I'll tell you what, stay here in the garden. They want
to catch the four-something back to London. And, later, we can have a
cozy little tea all by ourselves."

"Very well. Oh, my dear," said Miss Pringle with emotion, "I'm so
sincerely happy in your good luck!"

Nora was genuinely moved. She leaned over and kissed Miss Pringle, her
eyes filling with quick tears.

Then she went into the house. The Wickhams were already in the
drawing-room. Mrs. James Wickham was a pretty young woman, a good ten
years younger than her unattractive husband. Of the two, Nora preferred