Sylvia extricated herself from her lover's arm with a heightened color, and nodded gravely. Seeing it was business, she had to descend from heaven to earth, but she secretly hoped that this dull little lawyer, who was a bachelor and had never loved in his dry little life, would soon go away and leave her alone with Prince Charming. Deborah guessed these thoughts with the instinct of fidelity, and swooped down on her young mistress.
"It's the will, poppet," she whispered loudly, "but if it do make your dear head ache Mr. Beecot will listen."
"I wish Mr. Beecot to listen in any case," said Pash, dryly, "if he is to marry my young and esteemed client."
"We are engaged with the consent of my poor father," said Sylvia, taking Paul's hand. "I shall marry no one but Paul."
"And Paul will marry an angel," said that young man, with a tender squeeze, "although he can't keep her in bread-and-butter."
"Oh, I think there will be plenty of bread-and-butter," said the lawyer. "Miss Norman, we have found the will if," added Mr. Pash, disdainfully, "this," he held out the document with a look of contempt, "can be called a will."
"It's all right, isn't it?" asked Sylvia, anxiously.
"I mean the form and the writing and the paper, young lady. It is a good will in law, and duly signed and witnessed."
"Me and Bart having written our names, lovey," put in Deborah.