Beryl stammered. "I hardly know how to thank you. I am not worthy—"
"There—there—there!" said the old man tartly. "We understand all that. Can you suggest any alteration?"
"No, uncle. The will is perfect."
"What do you think, Durham?" said Gore, with a dry chuckle.
"I think," said the lawyer, his eyes still on the fire, "that some provision should be made for your grandson. He has been taught to consider himself your heir, and has been brought up in that expectation. It is hard that, at his age, he should be thrown on the world for—"
"For disobedience," put in Beryl, meekly.
Sir Simon chuckled again. "Yes, for disobedience. You are not aware, Durham, that Bernard wants to marry a girl who has no name and no parents, and no money—the companion of a crabbed old cat called Miss Plantagenet."
"I know," said the young lawyer, nodding. "She is the aunt of Lord Conniston, who told me about the matter."
"I thought Lord Conniston was in America," said Julius, sharply.
"I saw him before he went to America," retorted the solicitor, who did not intend to tell Beryl that Conniston had been in his office on the previous day. "Why do you say that? Do you know him?"