The message surprised them both—nevertheless they went with alacrity. Mr. Romaine was walking up and down the luxurious room with a peculiarly cheerful smile, and his black eyes glowing. A single large sheet of paper, closely written, lay on the library table.
"Thank you for coming," he said, in his sweetest tones to Ethel. "I will detain you but a moment. I have been engaged in what is generally a lugubrious performance—making my will. It is now done, and I desire you and Chessingham to witness it."
It gave a slight shock to both of them. Chessingham had always found Mr. Romaine firmly wedded to the idea that, although he was full of diseases, he would never die. He made plans extending onward for twenty, thirty, and even forty years, and although he was decidedly a valetudinarian, he indicated the utmost contempt for his alleged ailments when it came to a serious question. Miss Maywood felt that all her hopes were dashed to the ground. A man who is thinking about getting married does not make his will before that event. She paled a little, but being a philosophic girl, and not being in love with Mr. Romaine, she maintained her composure
