ht.
I ought to hear the Will read--I am at your service."

Even Mrs. Gallilee now drew the right inference at last. She made no
remark. Something seemed to move feebly under her powder and paint. Soft
emotion trying to find its way to the surface? Impossible!

As they entered the library together, Miss Minerva returned to the
schoolroom. She had lingered on the upper landing, and had heard the
conversation between mother and son.

CHAPTER VII.

The library at Fairfield Gardens possessed two special attractions,
besides the books. It opened into a large conservatory; and it was
adorned by an admirable portrait of Mrs. Gallilee, painted by her
brother.

Waiting the appearance of the fair original, Mr. Mool looked at the
portrait, and then mentally reviewed the history of Mrs. Gallilee's
family. What he did next, no person acquainted with the habits of
lawyers will be weak enough to believe. Mr. Mool blushed.

Is this the language of exaggeration, describing a human anomaly on the
roll of attorneys? The fact shall be left to answer the question. Mr.
Mool had made a mistake in his choice of a profession. The result of the
mistake was--a shy lawyer.

Attended by such circumstances as these, the history of the family
assumes, for the moment, a certain importance. It is connected with a
blushing attorney. It will explain what happened on the reading of the
Will. And it is sure beforehand of a favourable reception--for it is all
about money.

Old Robert Graywell began life as the son of a small farmer. He was
generally considered to be rather an eccentric man; but prospered,
nevertheless, as a merchant in the city of London. When he retired from
business, he possessed a house and estate in the country, and a handsome
fortune safely invested in the Funds.

His children were three in number:--his son Robert, and his daughters
Maria and Susan.

The death of his wife, to whom he was devotedly attached, was the first
serious calamity of his life. He retired to his estate a soured and
broken man. Loving husbands are not always, as a necessary consequence,
tender fathers. Old Robert's daughters afforded him no consolation on
their mother's death. Their anxiety about their mourning dresses so
disgusted him that he kept out of their way. No extraordinary interest
was connected with their prospects in life: they would be married--and
there would be an end of them. As for the son, he had long since placed
himself bey