fancied, of herself. Had the woman been drinking? . . .

Then there arrived Mr. Brassy, her father's solicitor, from Cator
Hill. He had been often in the house, a short fat man with a purple
face, clothes of a horsy cut, and large, red, swollen fingers. He
took now possession of the house with much self-importance. "Well,
Miss Maggie" (he blew his words at her as a child blows soap-
bubbles). "Here we are, then. Very sad indeed--very. I've been
through the house--got the will all right. Your aunt, you say, will
be with us?"

"My aunt from London. Miss Anne Cardinal. I expect her in half an
hour. She should have arrived at Clinton by the half-past nine
train." "Well, well. Yes--yes--indeed, your uncle is also here?"

"Yes. He will be down shortly."

"Very good, Miss Maggie. Very good."

She hated that he should call her Miss Maggie. He had always treated
her with considerable respect, but to-day she fancied that he
patronised her. He placed his hand for a moment on her shoulder and
she shrank back. He felt her action and, abashed a little, coughed
and blew his nose. He strutted about the room. Then the door opened
and Ellen the cook looked in upon them.

"I only wished to see, Miss, whether I could do anything for you?"

"Nothing, thank you," said Maggie.