Mrs. Gallilee saw her housekeeper as usual, and gave her orders for the
day. “If there is anything forgotten,” she said, “I must leave it to
you. For the next hour or two, don’t let me be disturbed.”
Some of her letters of the morning were still unread, others required
immediate acknowledgment. She was not as ready for her duties as usual.
For once, the most unendurably industrious of women was idle, and sat
thinking.
Even her unimaginative nature began to tremble on the verge of
superstition. Twice, had the subtle force of circumstances defeated her,
in the attempt to meddle with the contemplated marriage of her son. By
means of the music-master, she had planned to give Ovid jealous reasons
for doubting Carmina--and she had failed. By means of the governess, she
had planned to give Carmina jealous reasons for doubting Ovid--and she
had failed. When some people talked of Fatality, were they quite such
fools as she had hitherto supposed them to be? It would be a waste of
time to inquire. What next step could she take?
Urged by the intolerable sense of defeat to find reasons for still
looking hopefully to the future, the learned Mrs. Gallilee lowered
herself to the intellectual level of the most ignorant servant in the
house. The modern Muse of Science unconsciously opened her mind to the
vulgar belief in luck. She said to herself, as her kitchen-maid might
have said, We will see what comes of it, the third time!
Benjulia’s letter was among the other letters waiting on the table. She
took it up, and read it again.
In her present frame of mind, to find her thoughts occupied by
the doctor, was to be reminded of Ovid’s strange allusion to his
professional colleague, on the day of his departure. Speaking of
Carmina, he had referred to one person whom he did not wish her to see
in his absence; and that person, he had himself admitted to be Benjulia.
He had been asked to state his objection to the doctor--and how had he
replied? He had said, “I don’t think Benjulia a fit person to be in the
company of a young girl.”
Why?
There are many men of mature age, who are not fit persons to be in the
company of young girls--but they are either men who despise, or men who
admire, young girls. Benjulia belonged neither to the one nor to the
other of these two classes. Girls were objects of absolute indifference
to him--with the one exception of Zo, aged ten. Never yet, after meeting
him in society hundreds of times, had Mrs. Gallilee seen him talk to
young ladies or even notice young ladies. Ovid’s alleged reason for
objecting to Benjulia stood palpably revealed as a clumsy excuse.
In the present posture of events, to arrive at that conclusion was
enough for Mrs. Gallilee. Without stopping to pursue the idea, she rang
the bell, and ordered her carriage to be ready that afternoon, at three
o’clock.
Doubtful, and more than doubtful, though it might be, the bare prospect
of finding herself possessed, before the day was out, of a means of
action capable of being used against Carmina, raised Mrs. Gallilee’s
spirits. She was ready at last to attend to her correspondence.
One of the letters was from her sister in Scotland. Among other
subjects, it referred to Carmina.
“Why won’t you let that sweet girl come and stay with us?” Lady
Northlake asked. “My daughters are longing for such a companion; and
both my sons are ready to envy Ovid the moment they see her. Tell my
nephew, when you next write, that I thoroughly understand his falling in
love with that gentle pretty creature at first sight.”
Carmina’s illness was the ready excuse which presented itself in Mrs.
Gallilee’s reply. With or without an excuse, Lady Northlake was to be
resolutely prevented from taking a foremost place in her niece’s heart,
and encouraging the idea of her niece’s marriage. Mrs. Gallilee felt
almost pious enough to thank Heaven that her sister’s palace in the
Highlands was at one end of Great Britain, and her own marine villa at
the other!
The marine villa reminded her of the family migration to the sea-side.
When would it be desirable to leave London? Not until her mind was
relieved of the heavier anxieties that now weighed on it. Not while
events might happen--in connection with the threatening creditors or the
contemplated marriage--which would baffle her latest calculations, and
make her presence in London a matter of serious importance to her own
interests. Miss Minerva, again, was a new obstacle in the way. To take
her to the Isle of Wight was not to be thought of for a moment.
To dismiss her at once, by paying the month’s salary, might be the
preferable course to pursue--but for two objections. In the first place
(if the friendly understanding between them really continued) Carmina
might communicate with the discarded governess in secret. In the second
place, to pay Miss Minerva’s salary before she had earned it, was
a concession from which Mrs. Gallilee’s spite, and Mrs. Gallilee’s
principles of paltry economy, recoiled in disgust. No! the waiting
policy in London, under whatever aspect it might be viewed, was, for the
present, the one policy to pursue.
She returned to the demands of her correspondence. Just as she had taken
up her pen, the sanctuary of the boudoir was violated by the appearance
of a servant.
“What is it now? Didn’t the housekeeper tell you that I am not to be
disturbed?”
“I beg your pardon, ma’am. My master--”
“What does your master want?”
“He wishes to see you, ma’am.”
This was a circumstance entirely without parallel in the domestic
history of the house. In sheer astonishment, Mrs. Gallilee pushed away
her letters, and said “Show him in.”
When the boys of fifty years since were naughty, the schoolmaster of the
period was not accustomed to punish them by appealing to their sense
of honour. If a boy wanted a flogging, in those days, the educational
system seized a cane, or a birch-rod, and gave it to him. Mr. Gallilee
entered his wife’s room, with the feelings which had once animated
him, on entering the schoolmaster’s study to be caned. When he said
“Good-morning, my dear!” his face presented the expression of fifty
years since, when he had said, “Please, sir, let me off this time!”
“Now,” said Mrs. Gallilee, “what do you want?”
“Only a little word. How well you’re looking, my dear!”
After a sleepless night, followed by her defeat in Carmina’s room,
Mrs. Gallilee looked, and knew that she looked, ugly and old. And her
wretched husband had reminded her of it. “Go on!” she answered sternly.
Mr. Gallilee moistened his dry lips. “I think I’ll take a chair, if
you will allow me,” he said. Having taken his chair (at a respectful
distance from his wife), he looked all round the room with the air of
a visitor who had never seen it before. “How very pretty!” he remarked
softly. “Such taste in colour. I think the carpet was your own design,
wasn’t it? How chaste!”
_“Will_ you come to the point, Mr. Gallilee?”
“With pleasure, my dear--with pleasure. I’m afraid I smell of tobacco?”
“I don’t care if you do!”
This was such an agreeable surprise to Mr. Gallilee, that he got on his
legs again to enjoy it standing up. “How kind! Really now, how kind!” He
approached Mrs. Gallilee confidentially. “And do you know, my dear, it
was one of the most remarkable cigars I ever smoked.” Mrs. Gallilee laid
down her pen, and eyed him with an annihilating frown. In the extremity
of his confusion Mr. Gallilee ventured nearer. He felt the sinister
fascination of the serpent in the expression of those awful eyebrows.
“How well you are looking! How amazingly well you are looking this
morning!” He leered at his learned wife, and patted her shoulder!
For the moment, Mrs. Gallilee was petrified. At his time of life, was
this fat and feeble creature approaching her with conjugal endearments?
At that early hour of the day, had his guilty lips tasted his favourite
champagne, foaming in his well-beloved silver mug, over his much-admired
lump of ice? And was _this_ the result?
“Mr. Gallilee!”
“Yes, my dear?”
“Sit down!”
Mr. Gallilee sat down.
“Have you been to the club?”
Mr. Gallilee got up again.
“Sit down!”
Mr. Gallilee sat down. “I was about to say, my dear, that I’ll show you
over the club with the greatest pleasure--if that’s what you mean.”
“If you are not a downright idiot,” said Mrs. Gallilee, “understand
this! Either say what you have to say, or--” she lifted her hand, and
let it down on the writing-table with a slap that made the pens ring in
the inkstand--“or, leave the room!”
Mr. Gallilee lifted his hand, and searched in the breast-pocket of his
coat. He pulled out his cigar-case, and put it back in a hurry. He tried
again, and produced a letter. He looked piteously round the room, in
sore need of somebody whom he might appeal to, and ended in appealing to
himself. “What sort of temper will she be in?” he whispered.
“What have you got there?” Mrs. Gallilee asked sharply. “One of the
letters you had this morning?”
Mr. Gallilee looked at her with admiration. “Wonderful woman!” he said.
“Nothing escapes her! Allow me, my dear.”
He rose and presented the letter, as if he was presenting a petition.
Mrs. Gallilee snatched it out of his hand. Mr. Gallilee went softly back
to his chair, and breathed a devout ejaculation. “Oh, Lord!”
It was a letter from one of the tradespeople, whom Mrs. Gallilee had
attempted to pacify with a payment “on account.” The tradesman felt
compelled, in justice to himself, to appeal to Mr. Gallilee, as master
of the house (!). It was impossible for him (he submitted with the
greatest respect) to accept a payment, which did not amount to one-third
of the sum owing to him for more than a twelvemonth. “Wretch!” cried
Mrs. Gallilee. “I’ll settle his bill, and never employ him again!” She
opened her cheque-book, and dipped her pen in the ink. A faint voice
meekly protested. Mr. Gallilee was on his legs again. Mr. Gallilee said.
“Please don’t!”
His incredible rashness silenced his wife. There he stood; his
round eyes staring at the cheque-book, his fat cheeks quivering with
excitement. “You mustn’t do it,” he said, with a first and last outburst
of courage. “Give me a minute, my dear--oh, good gracious, give me a
minute!”
He searched in his pocket again, and produced another letter. His
eyes wandered towards the door; drops of perspiration oozed out on his
forehead. He laid the second letter on the table; he looked at his wife,
and--ran out of the room.
Mrs. Gallilee opened the second letter. Another dissatisfied tradesman?
No: creditors far more formidable than the grocer and the butcher.
An official letter from the bankers, informing Mr. Gallilee that “the
account was overdrawn.”
She seized her pass-book, and her paper of calculations. Never yet had
her rigid arithmetic committed an error. Column by column she revised
her figures--and made the humiliating discovery of her first mistake.
She had drawn out all, and more than all, the money deposited in the
bank; and the next half-yearly payment of income was not due until
Christmas.
There was but one thing to be done--to go at once to the bank. If Ovid
had not been in the wilds of Canada, Mrs. Gallilee would have made her
confession to him without hesitation. As it was, the servant called a
cab, and she made her confession to the bankers.
The matter was soon settled to her satisfaction. It rested (exactly as
Miss Minerva had anticipated) with Mr. Gallilee. In the house, he might
abdicate his authority to his heart’s content. Out of the house, in
matters of business, he was master still. His “investments” represented
excellent “security;” he had only to say how much he wanted to borrow,
and to sign certain papers--and the thing was done.
Mrs. Gallilee went home again, with her pecuniary anxieties at rest for
the time. The carriage was waiting for her at the door.
Should she fulfil her intention of visiting Benjulia? She was not a
person who readily changed her mind--and, besides, after the troubles
of the morning, the drive into the country would be a welcome relief.
Hearing that Mr. Gallilee was still at home, she looked in at the
smoking-room. Unerring instinct told her where to find her husband,
under present circumstances. There he was, enjoying his cigar in
comfort, with his coat off and his feet on a chair. She opened the door.
“I want you, this evening,” she said--and shut the door again; leaving
Mr. Gallilee suffocated by a mouthful of his own smoke.
Before getting into the carriage, she only waited to restore her face
with a flush of health (from Paris), modified by a sprinkling of pallor
(from London). Benjulia’s humour was essentially an uncertain humour. It
might be necessary to fascinate the doctor.