Mr. Mossop nodded appreciatively; then, sympathetically, he lifted the lid of a silver box on a charming walnut-wood stand and asked his visitor to have a cigar.
“No, I never smoke before my dinner,” said Josiah sternly. “She hasn’t been home a month from Germany.” The veins in his forehead grew even more distended.
“Where—in Germany?”
“Eight months at Dresden. Pity she didn’t stop there. Fact o‘ the matter is she’s over-educated.”
The lawyer looked a little dubious.
“Oh, yes, Mossop. Not having a boy, I don’t mind tellin‘ you I’ve been a bit too ambitious for that gel. And over-education is what this country is suffering from at the present time. It’s the national disease. And women take it worse than men. School—college—Paris—and Germany on the top of ’em. I must have been mad. However ... there it is! ... let me know when the document’s ready and I’ll look in at the office and sign it.”
The lawyer would have liked to continue his protest but the face of his client forbade. He crossed to his writing table, took up a pencil and a sheet of notepaper and said, “Miss Sarah‘s portion to Mrs. Cockburn except——”
“Five thousand pounds to Gertrude Preston.”
The lawyer made a brief note. “Right,” he said gravely. “I hope a codicil will be sufficient; we’ll avoid a new instrument, if we can. You shall know when it’s ready.”
Josiah gave a curt nod.