“I know.”  The reply came so sharply that it was evident he had touched upon a sore subject.  “It is very much to be regretted that you haven’t.  After all, she must have left at least a hundred thousand to divide.”

“Even the prospect of a share of the spoil wouldn’t have compensated for the infliction of visiting an old termagant like Great-aunt Rachel,” averred Roger unrepentantly.

“I shall be interested to hear the will read, nevertheless,” rejoined Lady Gertrude.  “After all, you were her only great-nephew and, in spite of your inattentiveness, I don’t suppose she has overlooked you.  She may even have remembered Isobel to the extent of a piece of jewellery.”

Isobel’s brown eyes gleamed—­like the alert eyes of a robin who suddenly perceives the crumbs some kindly hand has scattered on the lawn.

“I’m afraid we shall have to leave you alone for a night, Nan,” pursued Lady Gertrude with a stiff air of apology.

Nan, engrossed in a long epistle from Penelope, failed to hear and made no answer.  The tremendous fact of great-aunt’s death, and the possible disposition of her property, had completely passed her by.  It was little wonder that she was so much absorbed.  Penelope’s letter had been written on board ship and posted from Liverpool, and it contained the joyful tidings that she and her husband had returned to England and proposed going straight to the Edenhall flat.  “You must come up and see us as soon as your visit to Trenby comes to an end,” wrote Penelope, and Nan devoutly wished it could end that very moment.

“I don’t think you heard me, Nan.”  Lady Gertrude’s incisive voice cut sharply across the pulsing excitement of the girl’s thoughts.

“I—­I—­no.  Did you speak to me?” she faltered.  Her usual dainty assurance was fast disappearing beneath the nervous strain of living with Lady Gertrude.

The facts concerning great-aunt’s death were recapitulated for her benefit, together with the explanation that, since Lady Gertrude, Roger, and Isobel would be obliged to stay the night with “Cousin Emily” in order to attend the funeral, Nan would be reluctantly left to her own devices.

“I can’t very well take you with us—­on such an occasion,” meditated Lady Gertrude aloud.  “To Cousin Emily you would be a complete stranger, you see.  Besides, she will no doubt have other relatives besides ourselves to put up at the house.  Would you care for me to ask someone over to keep you company while we’re away?”

“Oh, no, thank you,” replied Nan hastily.  “Please don’t worry about me at all, Lady Gertrude.  I don’t in the least mind being left alone—­really.”

A sudden ecstatic thought had come into her mind which could only be put into execution if she were left alone at Trenby, and the bare possibility of any other arrangement now being made filled her with alarm.

“Well, I regret the necessity of leaving you,” said Lady Gertrude, meticulous as ever in matters of social observance.  “But the servants will look after you well, I hope.  And in any case, we shall be home again on Thursday night.  We shall be able to catch the last train back.”