Evans--he's my brother-in-law, you know--told me no trained nurse could
have been more competent. She was like a daughter to Miss Wickham."

"I suppose we'd better send for her," said Mrs. Wickham coldly.

"Have you brought the----" Wickham stopped in embarrassment.

"Yes, I have it in my pocket," said the solicitor quickly. He had noted
before now how awkward people always were about speaking of wills.
There was nothing indelicate about doing so. Heavens, all right-minded
persons made their wills and they meant to have them read after they
were dead. Everybody knew that, and yet they always acted as if it were
indecent to approach the subject. He had no patience with such nonsense.

With an eloquent look at her husband, Mrs. Wickham slowly crossed the
room to the bell.

"I'll ring for Miss Marsh," she said in a hard voice.

"I expect Mr. Wynne would like a cup of tea, Dorothy."

She frowned at her husband behind the solicitor's broad back. More
delays. Could she bear it? "Oh, I'm so sorry, I quite forgot about it."

"No, thank you very much, I never take tea," protested that gentleman.
He took from his pocket a long blue envelope and slowly drew from it the
will, which he smoothed out with a deliberation which was maddening to
Mrs. Wickham. She could hardly tear her fascinated eyes away from it
long enough to tell the waiting Kate to ask Miss Marsh to be good enough
to come to them.