Pottinger, the Yeld attorney, honour. The widow was there, looking pale
but charming in her deep mourning and tasteful cap. Roger was there,
restless, impatient, and a little angry at all the fuss. Dr Brandram
and the Rector were there, resigned, as men who had been through
ceremonies of the kind before. And a deputation of dead-servants sat on
chairs near the door, gratified to be included in the party, and
mentally going over their services to the testator, and appraising them
in anticipation.

"We were waiting for you, Mr Armstrong," said the attorney severely, as
the tutor entered.

Mr Armstrong looked not at all well pleased to be thus accosted, and
walked to a seat in the bay-window behind Mr Pottinger.

The man of the law put on his glasses, took a sip of water from a
tumbler he had had brought in, blew his nose, and glancing round on his
audience with all the enjoyment of a man who feels himself master of the
situation, began to make a little speech.

There was first a little condescending preamble concerning the virtues
of the deceased, which every one but Roger listened to respectfully.
The son felt it as much as he could put up with to sit still and hear
it, and began to fidget ominously, and greatly to the disturbance of the
speaker. When Mr Pottinger, after a few reproachful pauses, left this
topic and began to discourse on his own relations with the late Squire,
it was the turn of Dr Brandram to become restless.

"This is not the occasion for dwelling on the gratification I received
from--"

Here the doctor deliberately rose and walked across the room for a
footstool, which, as deliberately, he walked back with and laid at the
feet of Mrs Ingleton. "Beg pardon--go on," said he, meeting the
astonished eye of the attorney.

"The gratification I received from the kind expressions--"

Here a large coal inconsiderately fell out of the fire with a loud
clamour. Raffles, with considerable commotion, came from his seat and
proceeded to restore it to its lost estate.

Mr Pottinger took his glasses from his nose and regarded the
performance with such abject distress, that Roger, catching sight of his
face, involuntarily smiled. "Really," exclaimed the now thoroughly
offended friend of the family, "really, my boy, on an occasion such as
this--"

Here the Rector, to every one's relief, came gallantly to the rescue.
"This is very tedious, Mr Pottinger," said he. "The friends here, I am
sure, will