ladies; but Ann comes to Tanner and takes his chair, which he offers
with a brusque gesture, subsequently relieving his irritation by sitting
down on the corner of the writing table with studied indecorum. Octavius
gives Mrs Whitefield a chair next Ann, and himself takes the vacant
one which Ramsden has placed under the nose of the effigy of Mr Herbert
Spencer.

Mrs Whitefield, by the way, is a little woman, whose faded flaxen hair
looks like straw on an egg. She has an expression of muddled shrewdness,
a squeak of protest in her voice, and an odd air of continually elbowing
away some larger person who is crushing her into a corner. One guesses
her as one of those women who are conscious of being treated as silly
and negligible, and who, without having strength enough to assert
themselves effectually, at any rate never submit to their fate. There
is a touch of chivalry in Octavius's scrupulous attention to her, even
whilst his whole soul is absorbed by Ann.

Ramsden goes solemnly back to his magisterial seat at the writing table,
ignoring Tanner, and opens the proceedings.

RAMSDEN. I am sorry, Annie, to force business on you at a sad time like
the present. But your poor dear father's will has raised a very serious
question. You have read it, I believe?

[Ann assents with a nod and a catch of her breath, too much affected to
speak].

I must say I am surprised to find Mr Tanner named as joint guardian
and trustee with myself of you and Rhoda. [A pause. They all look
portentous; but they have nothing to say. Ramsden, a little ruffled by