Mr. Donald frowned. “This is not an occasion for levity, my dear Miss Carteret.”
“Of course. Sorry. But I really do want to hear a will read.”
“Are you romantic?” asked Mr. Donald hopefully.
“Good lord, no! But I have a sense of drama.”
“Well, I shall not argue the point. But I think—first—may I ring for Topper and order a glass of sherry? This really has been a very trying day.”
“Indeed, yes!” There was no lack of Carteret hospitality at least.
Topper brought the sherry and retired. Mr. Donald filled two glasses, handed one to Gita, and lifted his own gallantly. “Here’s to your very good health, Miss Carteret, and a long and useful life.”
“Thanks,” said Gita dryly, but drinking the sherry, of which she suddenly felt the need. “Same to you. But please call me Gita. Miss Carteret doesn’t suit me at all.”
“Ah!—well, yes—I’ll call you Gita with pleasure. And now I shall read this last testament of my dear old friend.”
He began to read in a dry legal voice. Gita, warmed by the sherry, smiled at the lines beginning: “Being of sound mind,” etc. Nothing more aptly could have described her grandmother.