The Passing of Olivia

Bates brought a great log and rolled it upon exactly
the right spot on the andirons, and a great constellation
of sparks thronged up the chimney. The old relic of a
house-I called the establishment by many names, but
this was, I think, my favorite-could be heated in all
its habitable parts, as Bates had demonstrated. The
halls were of glacial temperature these cold days, but
my room above, the dining-room and the great library
were comfortable enough. I threw down a book and
knocked the ashes from my pipe.

"Bates!"

"Yes, sir."

"I think my spiritual welfare is in jeopardy. I need
counsel,-a spiritual adviser."

"I'm afraid that's beyond me, sir."

"I'd like to invite Mr. Stoddard to dinner so I may
discuss my soul's health with him at leisure."

"Certainly, Mr. Glenarm."

"But it occurs to me that probably the terms of Mr.
Glenarm's will point to my complete sequestration here.
In other words, I may forfeit my rights by asking a
guest to dinner."

He pondered the matter for a moment, then replied: "I should think, sir,-as you ask my opinion,-that
in the case of a gentleman in holy orders there would
be no impropriety. Mr. Stoddard is a fine gentleman;
I heard your late grandfather speak of him very
highly."

"That, I imagine, is hardly conclusive in the matter.
There is the executor-"

"To be sure; I hadn't considered him."

"Well, you'd better consider him. He's the court of
last resort, isn't he?"

"Well, of course, that's one way of looking at it,
sir.