"Yes, certainly, I am," cried Miss Crane.
"Then, madam, without troubling you about details, partly because business details are unwelcome to ladies, and partly because I am obliged to catch the 7.25 train up to town, I shall briefly tell you what I am certain, from my previous knowledge of human nature, will be welcome news to you, and that is——"
"What?" demanded Miss Crane with some impatience.
"It is that your uncle, the late John Crane, of No. 8, Harbourne Street, Liverpool, who died on the 27th of last month, has left you a sum which, invested as it is at present, brings in an income of £700 per annum—of," reiterated Mr. Spinner with impressive solemnity, "£700 per annum."
Miss Crane was too much astonished to speak.
"It is a fact, I assure you, madam," continued Mr. Spinner, rising from his chair and placing a card on the table. "Allow me to give you my card with the address of my place of business. Perhaps you could find time to call to see me some time to-morrow, when I shall be most happy to show you your uncle's will, and, in short, make myself useful in helping you in any way in my power."
"I cannot believe it," cried Miss Crane. "Are you quite sure there is no mistake?"
Mr. Spinner smiled indulgently.
"None whatever, and if it should be a convenience to you," he said, with a glance round the neat poverty of the room, "I shall be happy to advance you any reasonable sum as a proof of the truth of my statement."
"No, thank you," replied Miss Crane, flushing somewhat proudly. "I do not require it."