“No doubt you would like that” I answered. “But I’m not going to give you the pleasure. I abide by the terms of the will. My grandfather was a fine old gentleman. I shan’t drag his name through the courts,—not even to please you, Arthur Pickering” I declared hotly.

“The sentiment is worthy of a good man, Glenarm” he rejoined.

“But this woman who is to succeed to my rights,—I don’t seem to remember her”

“It is not surprising that you never heard of her”

“Then she’s not a connection of the family,—no long-lost cousin whom I ought to remember?”

“No; she was a late acquaintance of your grand- father’s. He met her through an old friend of his,—Miss Evans, known as Sister Theresa. Miss Devereux is Sister Theresa’s niece.”

I whistled. I had a dim recollection that during my grandfather’s long widowerhood there were occasional reports that he was about to marry. The name of Miss Evans had been mentioned in this connection. I had heard it spoken of in my family, and not, I remembered, with much kindness. Later, I heard of her joining a Sisterhood, and opening a school somewhere in the West.

“And Miss Devereux,-is she an elderly nun, too?”

“I don’t know how elderly she is, but she isn’t a nun at present. Still, she’s almost alone in the world, and she and Sister Theresa are very intimate.”

“Pass the will again, Pickering, while I make sure I grasp these diverting ideas. Sister Theresa isn’t the one I mustn’t marry, is she? It’s the other ecclesiastical embroidery artist,—the one with the x in her name, suggesting the algebra of my vanishing youth.”

I read aloud this paragraph:

Provided, further, that in the event of the marriage of said John Glenarm to the said Marian Devereux, or in the event of any promise or contract of marriage between said persons within five years from the date of said John Glenarm’s acceptance of the provisions of this will, the whole estate shall become the property absolutely of St. Agatha’s School, at Annandale, Wabana County, Indiana. a corporation under the laws of said state.

“For a touch of comedy commend me to my grandfather! Pickering, you always were a well-meaning fellow,—I’ll turn over to you all my right, interest and title in and to these angelic Sisters. Marry! I like the idea! I suppose some one will try to marry me for my money. Marriage, Pickering, is not embraced in my scheme of life!”

“I should hardly call you a marrying man,” he obderved.