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But, at last, one sunny morning when a boy and girl approached the gate they saw no one in the garden, and the blinds in the house pulled down. Old Miss Stanhope had died quietly in her sleep that morning, and after forty-three years Miss Mason had deserted the flower-beds. She was sitting in the desolate drawing-room, unable yet to grasp the meaning of the one really important event which had occurred in her life since she was five years old.

Four days later Miss Stanhope’s will was read. Miss Mason had been left sole heiress to an income which amounted to something like fifteen thousand a year. No one but Miss Stanhope herself and her trustees had had the smallest conception of her wealth. The terms of the will, which appeared in the local papers, had the effect of taking every one’s breath away.

Miss Mason spoke to the lawyer regarding it.

“Can’t spend anything like that amount a year,” she said gruffly. “Don’t know how Miss Stanhope managed to. Much rather you gave me one thousand and looked after the rest. Shan’t find it easy to spend one.”