—and so for a full minute they stood hand in hand, and quite silent. Mrs. Chessingham moved away judiciously—and did not return until the door closed behind Mr. Romaine. Ethel stood in the same spot, with a pained face.
"Do you know, Gladys, I had a queer feeling just now—as if Mr. Romaine were really ill, and might die at any time? And all the time we have looked upon him as a hypochondriac."
"Reggie says if anybody really expected Mr. Romaine to die he would live forever. But I have not heard him say he was ill, and I am sure Reggie does not suspect it. And, Ethel dear, I should n't be surprised if, after all, that house at Prince's Gate should be yours."
"I should be," answered Ethel, "but if it ever is, I promise to be kind to the old gentleman."
Bridge had met "the old gentleman" just outside the door, and had gone with him to the library, where he sat within easy call. Mr. Romaine, seated at his table, after a while seemed to recover from his paroxysm of pain. He unlocked a drawer and took out his will, which he read over, smiling all the time—he
