g a will. The
effect of these conditions may be thus summed up. If Lady Glyde died
without leaving children, her half-sister Miss Halcombe, and any other
relatives or friends whom she might be anxious to benefit, would, on
her husband's death, divide among them such shares of her money as she
desired them to have. If, on the other hand, she died leaving
children, then their interest, naturally and necessarily, superseded
all other interests whatsoever. This was the clause--and no one who
reads it can fail, I think, to agree with me that it meted out equal
justice to all parties.

We shall see how my proposals were met on the husband's side.

At the time when Miss Halcombe's letter reached me I was even more
busily occupied than usual. But I contrived to make leisure for the
settlement. I had drawn it, and had sent it for approval to Sir
Percival's solicitor, in less than a week from the time when Miss
Halcombe had informed me of the proposed marriage.

After a lapse of two days the document was returned to me, with notes
and remarks of the baronet's lawyer. His objections, in general,
proved to be of the most trifling and technical kind, until he came to
the clause relating to the twenty thousand pounds. Against this there
were double lines drawn in red ink, and the following note was appended
to them--

"Not admissible. The PRINCIPAL to go to Sir Percival Glyde, in the
event of his surviving Lady Glyde, and there being no issue."

That is to say, not one farthing of the twenty thousand pounds was to
go to Miss Halcombe, or to any other relative or friend of Lady
Glyde's. The whole sum, if she left no children, was to slip into the
pockets of her husband.

The answer I wrote to this audacious proposal was as short and sharp as
I could make it. "My dear sir. Miss Fairlie's settlement. I maintain
the clause to which you object, exactly as it stands. Yours truly."
The rejoinder came back in a quarter of an hour. "My dear sir. Miss
Fairlie's settlement. I maintain the red ink to which you object,
exactly as it stands. Yours truly." In the detestable slang of the
day, we were now both "at a deadlock," and nothing was left for it but
to refer to our clients on either side.

As matters stood, my client--Miss Fairlie not having yet completed her
twenty-first year--Mr. Frederick Fairlie, was her guardian. I wrote by
that day's post, and put the case before him exactly as it stood, not
only urging ever