“You look hot, sir; have a drink. Old English ale, out of the barrel.”
The tone was hearty. He poured out the sparkling ale into a big tumbler,
with hospitable good-will. Mr. Mool was completely, and most agreeably,
taken by surprise. He too was feeling the influence of the doctor’s good
humour--enriched in quality by pleasant remembrances of his interview
with the cook.
“I live in the suburbs, Doctor Benjulia, on this side of London,” Mr.
Mool explained; “and I have had a nice walk from my house to yours. If I
have done wrong, sir, in visiting you on Sunday, I can only plead that I
am engaged in business during the week--”
“All right. One day’s the same as another, provided you don’t interrupt
me. You don’t interrupt me now. Do you smoke?”
“No, thank you.”
“Do you mind my smoking?”
“I like it, doctor.”
“Very amiable on your part, I’m sure. What did you say your name was?”
“Mool.”
Benjulia looked at him suspiciously. Was he a physiologist, and a rival?
“You’re not a doctor--are you?” he said.
“I am a lawyer.”
One of the few popular prejudices which Benjulia shared with his
inferior fellow-creatures was the prejudice against lawyers. But for his
angry recollection of the provocation successfully offered to him by his
despicable brother, Mrs. Gallilee would never have found her way into
his confidence. But for his hearty enjoyment of the mystification of
the cook, Mr. Mool would have been requested to state the object of
his visit in writing, and would have gone home again a baffled man. The
doctor’s holiday amiability had reached its full development indeed,
when he allowed a strange lawyer to sit and talk with him!
“Gentlemen of your profession,” he muttered, “never pay visits to people
whom they don’t know, without having their own interests in view. Mr.
Mool, you want something of me. What is it?”
Mr. Mool’s professional tact warned him to waste no time on prefatory
phrases.
“I venture on my present intrusion,” he began, “in consequence of a
statement recently made to me, in my office, by Mrs. Gallilee.”
“Stop!” cried Benjulia. “I don’t like your beginning, I can tell you.
Is it necessary to mention the name of that old--?” He used a word,
described in dictionaries as having a twofold meaning. (First, “A female
of the canine kind.” Second, “A term of reproach for a woman.”) It
shocked Mr. Mool; and it is therefore unfit to be reported.
“Really, Doctor Benjulia!”
“Does that mean that you positively must talk about her?”
Mr. Mool smiled. “Let us say that it may bear that meaning,” he
answered.
“Go on, then--and get it over. She made a statement in your office. Out
with it, my good fellow. Has it anything to do with me?”
“I should not otherwise, Doctor Benjulia, have ventured to present
myself at your house.” With that necessary explanation, Mr. Mool related
all that had passed between Mrs. Gallilee and himself.
At the outset of the narrative, Benjulia angrily laid aside his pipe, on
the point of interrupting the lawyer. He changed his mind; and, putting
a strong constraint on himself, listened in silence. “I hope, sir,” Mr.
Mool concluded, “you will not take a hard view of my motive. It is only
the truth to say that I am interested in Miss Carmina’s welfare. I felt
the sincerest respect and affection for her parents. You knew them too.
They were good people. On reflection you must surely regret it, if you
have carelessly repeated a false report? Won’t you help me to clear the
poor mother’s memory of this horrid stain?”
Benjulia smoked in silence. Had that simple and touching appeal found
its way to him? He began very strangely, when he consented at last to
open his lips.
“You’re what they call, a middle-aged man,” he said. “I suppose you have
had some experience of women?”
Mr. Mool blushed. “I am a married man, sir,” he replied gravely.
“Very well; that’s experience--of one kind. When a man’s out of temper,
and a woman wants something of him, do you know how cleverly she can
take advantage of her privileges to aggravate him, till there’s nothing
he won’t do to get her to leave him in peace? That’s how I came to tell
Mrs. Gallilee, what she told you.”
He waited a little, and comforted himself with his pipe.
“Mind this,” he resumed, “I don’t profess to feel any interest in the
girl; and I never cared two straws about her parents. At the same time,
if you can turn to good account what I am going to say next--do it, and
welcome. This scandal began in the bragging of a fellow-student of mine
at Rome. He was angry with me, and angry with another man, for laughing
at him when he declared himself to be Mrs. Robert Graywell’s lover: and
he laid us a wager that we should see the woman alone in his room, that
night. We were hidden behind a curtain, and we did see her in his room.
I paid the money I had lost, and left Rome soon afterwards. The other
man refused to pay.”
“On what ground?” Mr. Mool eagerly asked.
“On the ground that she wore a thick veil, and never showed her face.”
“An unanswerable objection, Doctor Benjulia!”
“Perhaps it might be. I didn’t think so myself. Two hours before, Mrs.
Robert Graywell and I had met in the street. She had on a dress of a
remarkable colour in those days--a sort of sea-green. And a bonnet to
match, which everybody stared at, because it was not half the size of
the big bonnets then in fashion. There was no mistaking the strange
dress or the tall figure, when I saw her again in the student’s room. So
I paid the bet.”
“Do you remember the name of the man who refused to pay?”
“His name was Egisto Baccani.”
“Have you heard anything of him since?”
“Yes. He got into some political scrape, and took refuge, like the
rest of them, in England; and got his living, like the rest of them, by
teaching languages. He sent me his prospectus--that’s how I came to know
about it.”
“Have you got the prospectus?”
“Torn up, long ago.”
Mr. Mool wrote down the name in his pocket-book. “There is nothing more
you can tell me?” he said.
“Nothing.”
“Accept my best thanks, doctor. Good-day!”
“If you find Baccani let me know. Another drop of ale? Are you likely to
see Mrs. Gallilee soon?”
“Yes--if I find Baccani.”
“Do you ever play with children?”
“I have five of my own to play with,” Mr. Mool answered.
“Very well. Ask for the youngest child when you go to Mrs. Gallilee’s.
We call her Zo. Put your finger on her spine--here, just below the
neck. Press on the place--so. And, when she wriggles, say, With the big
doctor’s love.”
Getting back to his own house, Mr. Mool was surprised to find an open
carriage at the garden gate. A smartly-dressed woman, on the front seat,
surveyed him with an uneasy look. “If you please, sir,” she said, “would
you kindly tell Miss Carmina that we really mustn’t wait any longer?”
The woman’s uneasiness was reflected in Mr. Mool’s face. A visit from
Carmina, at his private residence, could have no ordinary motive. The
fear instantly occurred to him that Mrs. Gallilee might have spoken to
her of her mother.
Before he opened the drawing-room door, this alarm passed away. He heard
Carmina talking with his wife and daughters.
“May I say one little word to you, Mr. Mool?”
He took her into his study. She was shy and confused, but certainly
neither angry nor distressed.
“My aunt sends me out every day, when it’s fine, for a drive,” she said.
“As the carriage passed close by, I thought I might ask you a question.”
“Certainly, my dear! As many questions as you please.”
“It’s about the law. My aunt says she has the authority over me now,
which my dear father had while he was living. Is that true?”
“Quite true.”
“For how long is she my guardian?”
“Until you are twenty-one years old.”
The faint colour faded from Carmina’s face. “More than three years
perhaps to suffer!” she said sadly.
“To suffer? What do you mean, my dear?”
She turned paler still, and made no reply. “I want to ask one thing
more?” she resumed, in sinking tones. “Would my aunt still be my
guardian--supposing I was married?”
Mr. Mool answered this, with his eyes fixed on her in grave scrutiny.
“In that case, your husband is the only person who has any authority
over you. These are rather strange questions, Carmina. Won’t you take me
into your confidence?”
In sudden agitation she seized his hand and kissed it. “I must go!” she
said. “I have kept the carriage waiting too long already.”
She ran out, without once looking back.