"Circumstances, my dear aunt, will compel me to leave you during the course of the next few days: but I cannot go until I have the satisfaction of knowing you have made a will in our dear Nellie's favour."
"Good heavens—in my presence, too!" gasped the young lady.
"I need not remind you of the goodness, the modesty, the unselfishness of our Nellie," he continued. "She would serve you for nothing, but nevertheless it is your duty to leave her all you can."
"I can't stay and listen to this," cried the distressed beneficiary.
"Don't interfere. She has always meant to do it, but never will unless we jog her memory," George whispered.
"I'll have nothing to do with it," exclaimed Nellie; and out she went with a fine colour.
"Is this something to do with that nasty robbery they call income tax?" asked Miss Yard.
"This is your last will and testament," replied George solemnly. "I know you mean to leave everything to Nellie, but you can't do that unless you sign a will. You must die soon, you know; and, if it was to happen suddenly, Nellie would get nothing."
"I did write out a paper, but somebody has hidden it away somewhere," said the old lady.
"Pieces of paper are very little good," said George. "This is a properly drawn up will. When you have signed it I can go away quite happy, and I shall know dear Nellie will be provided for."