Instead of opening the parchment, however, as every one expected, he suddenly took off his glasses again, and made a little speech to all the relatives.
“I may as well premise,” he said, “that my good friend who has passed away was extremely eccentric.”
“Ah, yes, that he was, poor dear! Undoubtedly eccentric, but none the worse for that,” murmured the red-faced old lady at Mr Gray’s right.
He turned and frowned at her.
“I should feel obliged to you not to interrupt me, madam,” he said.
“Quite right, too,” said the testy old man on the left.
He got a deeper frown from the lawyer, who, after a moment’s pause, resumed his speech.
“Our friend was eccentric. I make this remark with a reason. I am about to communicate some news which will astonish—and disappoint—every individual in this room.”
This short speech made a profound sensation. All the relatives began muttering, and I cannot say that I once heard poor Cousin Geoffrey spoken of as “dear.”
“I repeat for the third time,” continued the lawyer, “the remarks I have already made. Our friend Geoffrey Rutherford was extremely eccentric. He was not the least out of his mind, his brain was as sound, his reason as clear as any man could desire. Nevertheless he was a very uncommon character. He lived a queer, lonely, inhospitable life. As regards money he was miserly. And yet, and yet,” continued the lawyer, “I have known him generous—generous to a fault.”