Frederik kept them waiting a moment longer. He was having the time of his life. He had purposely strung out the situation to its last thread, for the joy of witnessing the self-satisfied eagerness of the three legatees. Silent now, but acutely attentive, they sat with watchful eyes trained on Frederik and the all-important paper which he was holding so carelessly in his hand—the paper that was presently to tell them so much of moment. Then it came.
"Mrs. Batholommey, he wishes you to have his miniature—with his affectionate regard."
Frederik took a miniature from the desk drawer and offered it to Mrs. Batholommey with much ceremony. She did not take it, but sat waiting as before, merely folding her hands as she purred:
"Dear old gentleman—and—er—yes?"
Frederik seemed not to hear her, and laying the miniature on the desk, went on reading:
"To Mr. Batholommey——"
The clergyman's wife broke in quickly.
"But—er—you didn't finish mine!"
Frederik turned around in his chair and looked directly at her.
"You're finished," he said.