The Tale of Triona

OLIVIA GALE leaned back in her chair at the end of the dining-room table and looked first at the elderly gentleman on her right and then at the elderly gentleman on her left. “You’re both of you as kind as can be and I’m more than grateful for all you’ve done; but I do wish you’d see that it’s no use arguing. It only hurts and makes us tired. Do help yourself Mr. Trivett. And—another cup of tea Mr. Fenmarch?” Mr. Fenmarch on her left passed his cup with a sigh. He was a dusty greyish man his face covered with an indeterminate growth of thin short hair. His eyes were of a dull unspeculative blue. “As your solicitor my dear Olivia” said he “I can only obey instructions. As the friend of your family I venture to give you advice.” “Why the deuce your father didn’t tie you up in a trusteeship till you were twenty-five at any rate” said Mr. Trivett on her right helping himself to whisky and soda—the table covered with a green baize cloth was littered with papers and afternoon refreshments. “Why the dickens——” he began again after a sizzling gulp.