Chapter Four.
The Lawyer’s Tin Box.
“This has been a terrible week, Katrine,” said Lydia Lawrence, taking her cousin’s hand.
“Do you think so?”
“Oh, yes. I have not your sang froid. I would give anything to go back to the country.”
“I have been curious to know all about the will. That old man has been maddening. He might have spoken.”
“But his instructions, clear. The will was to be read after he had lain there a week.”
“Lain in state,” said Katrine, with a curl of her lip. “With a savage crouching on a lion-skin at his door like some dog. Pah! It is absurd. More like a scent in a French play than a bit of nineteenth century life.”
Lydia sighed.