"Thank you, aunt," was all she could say.

Her aunt moved away. Silently they went downstairs together.

At about ten the next morning they were seated in the dining-room--
Aunt Anne, Uncle Mathew, Maggie, and Mr. Brassy. Mr. Brassy was
speaking:

"I'm afraid, Miss Cardinal, that there can be no question about the
legality of this. It has been duly witnessed and signed. I regret
extremely . . . but as you can well understand, I was quite unable
to prevent. With the exception of a legacy of 300 Pounds Sterling to
Miss Maggie Cardinal everything goes to Miss Ellen Harmer, 'To whom
I owe more than I can ever possibly--'"

"Thank you," interrupted Aunt Anne. "This is, I think, the woman who
has been cook here during the last four years?"

"About five, I think," said Mr. Brassy softly.

Uncle Mathew was upon his feet, trembling.

"This is monstrous," he stuttered, "absolutely monstrous. Of course
an appeal will be made--undue influence--the most abominable thing."

Maggie watched them all as though the whole business were far from
herself. She sat there, her hands folded on her lap, looking at the
mantelpiece with the ugly marble clock, the letter clip with old
soiled letters in it, the fat green vase with dusty everlastings.