Her daughter looked round from the window quickly.

“In the act, my dear Annie,” repeated Mrs. Markleham, spreading the newspaper on her lap like a tablecloth, and patting her hands upon it, “of making his last will and testament. The foresight and affection of the dear! I must tell you how it was. I really must, in justice to the darling⁠—for he is nothing less!⁠—tell you how it was. Perhaps you know, Miss Trotwood, that there is never a candle lighted in this house, until one’s eyes are literally falling out of one’s head with being stretched to read the paper. And that there is not a chair in this house, in which a paper can be what I call, read, except one in the study. This took me to the study, where I saw a light. I opened the door. In company with the dear Doctor were two professional people, evidently connected with the law, and they were all three standing at the table: the darling Doctor pen in hand. ‘This simply expresses then,’ said the Doctor⁠—Annie, my love, attend to the very words⁠—‘this simply expresses then, gentlemen, the confidence I have in Mrs.