“Humph! Hah! And I’ve a shrewd suspicion that he had an angry interview with Mr Harrington—the nephew.”
“And heir?” said the doctor.
“My dear Lawrence,” said the old lawyer, smiling, “never try to pump one of our profession. In a very short time I shall be reading the will, so curb your impatience.”
“Of course, my dear sir, of course; only a little natural curiosity. Between ourselves I think it will be a pity if he marries our charming young friend, Gertrude.”
“Thousand pities,” said the old lawyer drily. “Sooner marry her myself—if I could.”
The carriage drew up at the outer gates as he spoke, and the ugly old brick house, known as “The Mynns,” seemed a little more cheerful now that the blinds, which had been down for days, were raised and the sun allowed to light up the gloomy rooms, in one of which—the dining-room—the little party assembled after a while to hear the reading of the will; Saul’s enemy, the dog, taking up his position or the hearthrug.
The party consisted of Gertrude, who came in attended by Bruno; Mrs Hampton, a stiff, stern old lady, who looked like a black dress with a face on the top; Saul Harrington, and the servants. Mr Hampton was there officially, and the doctor was retiring to see a patient in town, when the lawyer took him by the coat.
“Don’t go, Lawrence,” he said; “you forget you are an executor.”
“Oh, yes, of course, so I did.”
“It’s a long time since the will was executed, and I have some recollection of a snuff-box left to you.”