Joan nodded her head submissively.
"Poor Uncle Jimmy!" she said softly.
"Still," continued Hughie stoutly, "you never know. I have sent a man out to make inquiries, and if he fails, perhaps I shall go myself. But until we learn something definite the will can't be proved. However, he left me very full instructions what to do in case he did not come back, so I must carry them out. There is plenty for you to go on with. I shall run up to town to-morrow, and when I come back I'll let you know how much it is, and how much a year I can allow you."
Miss Gaymer clasped her hands and sighed happily.
"We will have a time, Hughie!" she said. "I'll stand treat."
"Thank you," said Hughie gravely.
There was a long silence. Hughie, suddenly ill at ease,—he had arrived at Part Two of his morning's syllabus,—made fatuous attempts to roll a cigarette. His ward sat with a rapt expression in her widely-opened eyes, mentally visualising a series of charitable enterprises (ranging from a turquoise pendant for Mildred Leroy to a new cap for the cook) made feasible by the sudden prospect of wealth.
Presently Hughie cleared his throat in a heart-rending manner, and said, in what he afterwards admitted to himself was entirely the wrong sort of voice,—
"Joey, I think you and I had better marry one another."
Miss Gaymer, who was more used to this sort of thing than her companion, turned and eyed him calmly.