Why
Pratt failed to be surprised by it was because he was just then feeling
exceedingly triumphant--he believed that Mrs. Mallathorpe was,
metaphorically, at his feet. He had more than a little vanity in him,
and it pleased him greatly, that dictating of terms: he saw himself a
conqueror, with his foot on the neck of his victim.
"Is that all, then?" asked the visitor.
"All!" answered Pratt.
Mrs. Mallathorpe calmly folded up the draft advertisement and placed it
in her purse. Then she rose and adjusted her veil.
"Then--there is nothing to be done until I get your answer to this--your
application?" she asked. "Very well."
Pratt showed her out, and walked to the cab with her. He went back to
his rooms highly satisfied--and utterly ignorant of what Mrs.
Mallathorpe was thinking as she drove away.
CHAPTER IX
UNTIL NEXT SPRING
Within a week of his sudden death in Eldrick's private office, old
Antony Bartle was safely laid in the tomb under the yew-tree of which
Mrs. Clough had spoken with such appreciation, and his grandson had
entered into virtual possession of all that he had left. Collingwood
found little difficulty in settling his grandfather's affairs.
Everything had been left to him: he was sole executor as well as sole
residuary legatee. He found his various tasks made uncommonly easy.
Another bookseller in the town hurried to buy the entire stock and
business, goodwill, book debts, everything--Collingwood was free of all
responsibility of the shop in Quagg Alley within a few days of the old
man's funeral.
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