“People usually sign their wills on their wedding-day. You see I am not strong and might die.” And he looked at her keenly.
“Yes, my love, or I might die, which would be far more natural.”
“I have made a will leaving you all I have. How do you wish to leave anything that you possess?”
“To you, of course, Alfred—everything I have in the world.”
“I don’t wish to influence you,” he said, “but I thought you might wish to make your will in substance the same as mine. So after I left you yesterday I had them both drawn up. They are in my great coat pocket now, we might as well get them signed and done with. The landlady and the servant will witness them.” He produced two long envelopes from his pocket, and Mrs. Hooper and the servant were called.
“Alfred,” Aunt Anne said, when they were alone again, and she read over the documents, “your name is in my will, but in yours you only say you ‘leave everything to my wife.’ ”
“Surely that is sufficient?” he said shortly.
“Of course, dear, for I am”—the voice dropped, as almost a blush came upon the withered cheek—“your wife now.” Mr. Wimple put his lips together again after his favourite manner and said nothing. She watched him curiously, a little fear seemed to overtake her, her hands, half trembling, sought each other. “Have I displeased you, Alfred,” she asked gently; “my darling, have I displeased you?”
“No,” he answered drily; “but I am not very sentimental, Anne. Perhaps you had better remember that,” and he put the wills carefully into his pocket. “We will go by the 5.35 train. By the way, you might meet me at the station,” and he looked at her steadfastly.
“If you do not come back for me I shall not go at all,” and something like an angry flash came from her eyes. He hesitated a moment.