her. It dawned on him gradually that she was a woman of rich
experience, and that her tranquillity was an aftergrowth, a
development--"That was in my discontented days," she said once. "It
is impossible to think of you as discontented," he had said. "Ah,"
she said lightly, "I had my dreams, like everyone else; but I saw
at last that one must TAKE life--one can't MAKE it--and accept its
limitations with enjoyment."

One morning, when he was called, the butler gave him a letter--he
had been there about a fortnight--from his aunt. He opened it,
expecting that it was to say that she was ill. He found that it ran
as follows:


"MY DEAR BOY,--I always think that business is best done by letter
and not by conversation. I am getting an old woman and my life is
uncertain. I want to make a statement of intentions. I may tell you
that I am a comparatively wealthy woman; my dear husband left me
everything he had; including what he spent on this place, it came
to about sixty thousand pounds. Now I intend to leave that back to
his family; there are several sisters of his alive, and they are
not wealthy people; but I have saved money too; and it is my wish
to leave you this house and the residue of my fortune, after
arranging for some small legacies. The estate is not worth very
much--a great deal of it is wild downland. But you would have the
place, when I died, and about twelve hundred a year. It would be
understood that you should live here a certain amount--I don't
believe in non-resident landlords. But I do not mean to tie you
down to live here altogether. It is only my wish that you should do
something for your tenants and neighbours. If you stayed on at