"What size?" I asked facetiously.
"Sixes—long ones," said Miranda, looking at her hands.
"I remember," I murmured.
Miranda looked up with a start and assumed her severest expression.
"I'm afraid you're not treating the matter seriously. Perhaps I had better go to father's solicitor; he's older and quite serious. But then he's rather bald and uninteresting. I think he takes snuff."
I retorted in my most professional manner. "I beg your pardon; I think you must have misunderstood me. I meant that all wills are not quite the same; some are longer than others."
"Not too long, then," she said. "You might show me some medium size ones. I should like to do the thing fairly well."
"We don't exactly stock them; they're generally made to order."
"I'm sorry; I wanted one at once. You know I was twenty-one the other day." (I knew it to my cost.) "Father says that everyone over twenty-one ought to make a will."
"Your father's views on the subject are very sound. If you'll give me your instructions, I'll make you one." I spread a sheet of paper in front of me.