my sister's name. There must be some mistake. Wasn't such news as this borne by a lawyer with proper ceremony and form, or at least delivered by mail, inside an envelope sealed with red wax? Ruth had known nothing of this three days ago when I called to see her. It could not be true. All the way into Boston on the electric car, I felt self-conscious and ill-at-ease. I was afraid some one I knew would meet me, and refer to the newspaper announcement. I would dislike to confess, "I know no more about it than you." I hate newspaper notoriety anyhow.
Edith greeted me as if we hadn't met for years, kissed me ecstatically and grasped both my hands tight in hers. Her sparkling eyes expressed what the publicity of the hotel corridor, where we met, prevented her from proclaiming aloud.
"Where can we go to be alone for half a minute?" she whispered.
"Let's try in here," I said, and we entered a deserted reception-room, and sat down in a bay-window.
"Did you telephone to Ruth?" was Edith's first remark.
I shook my head. "No. I didn't like to," I said.
"Nor I," confessed Edith. "She's always been touchy with me on the subject of Mrs. Sewall since the row. Isn't it too exciting?"
"Can it be legal, Edith?" I inquired.
"Of course, silly. Wills aren't published until they're looked into. Legal? Of course it is. I always
