'Well, Miss Totty Nancarrow,' resumed her visitor, using his umbrella to prop his chin, and rolling out his words with evident enjoyment of his task, 'I have the unpleasant duty of informing you that your late uncle is dead.'
The phrase might have excited a smile. Totty kept an even countenance and said she was sorry to hear it.
'Jusso! He has been dead nearly a month, and he was ill nearly six. I am appointed one of the executors by his will—me and a friend of mine, Mr. Higgins. I dare say you haven't heard of him. We've been putting your late uncle's affairs in order.'
'Have you?' said Totty, because she had nothing else to say.
'We have. I have come to see you, Miss Nancarrow, because you are interested in the will.'
'Oh, am I?'
It was said with a kind of disinterested curiosity. Mr. Barlow, having regarded her fixedly for a moment, bent his head till his forehead rested upon the umbrella, and seemed to brood.
'Don't you feel well, sir?' Totty asked, with a naivete which betrayed her impatience.
'Quite well, quite well.'
'You was saying something about my uncle's will.'