The next day and next, Sir James Scarlett seemed to be better. He was
pale and suffering from the shock, speaking gravely to all about him,
but evidently trying to make the visitors feel at their ease. He
pressed them to stay; but the doctor had to get back to town; so had
Prayle, though the latter acknowledged the fact with great reluctance;
and it was arranged that they were to be driven over to the station
together.
That morning at breakfast, however, a visitor was announced in the
person of Mr Frederick Saxby.
"Saxby? What does he want?" said Scarlett. "Why, he must have come
down from town this morning. Here, I'll fetch him in." He rose and
left the room, and the doctor noted that his manner was a good deal
changed.
"Unpleasant business, perhaps," he thought: and then, as his eyes met
Lady Scarlett's: "She's thinking the same."
Just then Scarlett returned, ushering in a good-looking rather florid
man of about thirty-five, over-dressed, and giving the impression, from
his glossy coat to his dapper patent-leather boots, that he was
something in the City.
"Saxby has come down on purpose to see you, aunt," said Scarlett.
"Trusted to our giving him some breakfast, so let's go on, and you
people can afterwards discuss news."
Mr Saxby was extremely polite to all before he took his place, bowing
deferentially to the ladies, most reverentially to Naomi, and
apologetically to the gentlemen; though, as soon as the constraint
caused by his coming in as he did had passed, he proved that he really
was something in the City, displaying all the sharp dogmatic way of
business men, the laying-down-the-law style of speech, and general
belief that all the world's inhabitants are fools--mere children in
everything connected with business--always excepting the speaker, who
seemed to assume a kind of hidden knowledge concerning all matters
connected with sterling coin. He chatted a good deal upon subject that
he assumed to be likely to interest his audience--how Egyptians were
down, Turkish were up, and Hudson's Bays were slashing, an expression
likely to confuse an unversed personage, who might have taken Hudson's
Bays for some celebrated regiment of horse. He several times over tried
to meet Aunt Sophia's eyes; but that lady rigidly kept them upon her
coffee-cup; and not only looked very stern and uncompromising, but gave
vent to an occasional sniff, that made Mr Saxby start, as though he
looked upon it as a kind of challenge to the fight to come.
Despite the disturbing influences of Aunt Sophia's sniffs and the
proximate presence of Naomi, by whom he was seated, and to whom, in
spite of his assumption, he found himself utterly unable to say a dozen
sensible words, Mr Frederick Saxby, of the Stock Exchange, managed to
partake of a most excellent breakfast--such a meal, in fact, as made Dr
Scales glance inquiringly at him, and ask himself questions respecting
digestion and the state of his general health.
It was now, as the breakfast party separated, some to enter the
conservatory, others to stroll round the garden, that Aunt Sophia met
Mr Saxby's eye, and nodding towards the drawing-room, said shortly: "Go
in there!--Naomi, you can come too."
Mr Saxby heard the first part of Aunt Sophia's speech as if it were an
adverse sentence, the latter part as if it were a reprieve; and after
drawing back, to allow the ladies to pass, he found that he was expected
to go first, and did so, feeling extremely uncomfortable, and as if
Naomi must be criticising his back--a very unpleasant feeling, by the
way, to a sensitive man, especially if he be one who is exceedingly
particular about his personal appearance, and wonders whether his coat
fits, and the aforesaid back has been properly brushed.
Naomi noted Mr Saxby's uneasiness, and she also became aware of the
fact that Arthur Prayle strolled slowly off into the conservatory, where
he became deeply interested in the flowers, taking off a dead leaf here
and there, and picking up fallen petals, accidentally getting near the
open window the while.
"Now, Mr Saxby," said Aunt Sophia sharply, "you have brought me down
those shares?"
"Well, no, Miss Raleigh," he said, business-like now at once. "I did
not buy them because--"
"You did not buy them?"
"No, ma'am. You see, shares of that kind--"
"Pay twelve and fifteen per cent, and I only get a pitiful three."
"Every year, ma'am, regularly. Shares like those you want me to buy
generally promise fifteen, pay at the rate of ten on the first
half-year--"
"Well, ten per cent, then," cried Aunt Sophia.
"Don't pay any dividend the second half-year, and the shares remain upon
the buyer's hands. No one will take them at any price."
"Oh, this is all stuff and nonsense, Mr Saxby!" cried Aunt Sophia
angrily.
"Not a bit of it, ma'am," cried the stockbroker firmly.
"But I say it is!" cried Aunt Sophia, with a stamp of her foot. "I had
set my mind upon having those shares."
"And I had set my mind upon stopping you, ma'am. That's why I got up at
six o'clock this morning and came down."
"Mr Saxby!"
"No use for you to be cross ma'am. Fighting against my own interest in
the present; but while I have your business to transact, ma'am, I won't
see your little fortune frittered away."
"Mr Saxby!" exclaimed Aunt Sophia again.
"I can't help it, ma'am; and of course you are perfectly at liberty to
take your business elsewhere. I want to make all I can out of you by
commission and brokerage, etcetera; but I never allow a client of mine
to go headlong, and run himself, or herself, down a Cornish mine,
without trying to skid the wheels."
"You forget that you are addressing ladies, Mr Saxby."
"Beg pardon; yes," said the stockbroker, trying hard to recall what he
had said. "Very sorry; but those are my principles, ma'am.--I'm twenty
pounds out of pocket, Miss Raleigh," he continued, "by not doing this
bit of business of your aunt's."
"And I think it is a very great piece of presumption on your part, Mr
Saxby. You need not address my niece, sir; she does not understand
these matters at all. Am I to understand then, that you refuse to buy
these shares for me?"
"Yes, ma'am, must distinctly. I wouldn't buy 'em for a client on any
consideration."
"Very well, sir; that will do," said Aunt Sophia shortly.
"Good-morning."
"But, my dear madam--"
"I said that will do, Mr Saxby," said Aunt Sophia stiffly.
"Good-morning."
Mr Saxby's lips moved, and he seemed to be trying to say something in
his own defence, and he also turned towards Naomi, as if seeking for
sympathy; but she only cast down her eyes.
"Perhaps Mr Saxby would like to walk round the garden before he goes
away," continued Aunt Sophia, looking at a statuette beneath a glass
shade as she spoke. "He will find my nephew and the doctor there.--
Naomi, my dear, come with me."
"Really madam"--began the stockbroker.
"Of course you will charge your expenses for this visit to me, Mr
Saxby," said Aunt Sophia coldly; and without another word she swept out
of the room.
"Well, if ever I"--Mr Saxby did not finish his sentence as he stood in
the hall, but delivered a tremendous blow right into his hat, checking
it in time to prevent injury to the glossy fabric; and then, sticking it
sideways upon his head, and his hands beneath his coat-tails, he
strolled out into the garden.
Ten minutes later, Aunt Sophia returned into the drawing-room, and as
she did so, a tall dark figure rose from where it was bending over a
book.
"Bless the man! how you made me jump," cried Aunt Sophia.
"I beg your pardon--I'm extremely sorry, Miss Raleigh," said Prayle
softly. "I was just looking through that little work."
"Oh!" said Aunt Sophia shortly.
"By the way, Miss Raleigh--I am sure you will excuse me."
"Certainly, Mr Prayle, certainly," said Aunt Sophia, who evidently
supposed that the speaker was about to leave the room.
"Thank you," he said softly. "I only wanted to observe that I am
engaged a great deal in the City, and--er--it often falls to my lot--
er--to be aware of good opportunities for making investments."
"Indeed," said Aunt Sophia.
"Yes; not always, but at times," continued Prayle. "I thought I would
name it to you, as you might perhaps feel disposed to take shares, say,
in some object of philanthropic design. I find that these affairs
generally pay good dividends, while the shareholders are perfectly
safe."
"Thank you, Mr Prayle," said Aunt Sophia shortly. "I don't know that I
have any money to invest."
"Exactly so," exclaimed Prayle. "Of course I did not for a moment
suppose that for the present you would have; but still I thought I would
name the matter to you. There is some difficulty in obtaining shares of
this class. They are apportioned amongst a very few."
"And do they pay a high percentage?"
"Very, very high. The shareholders have been known to divide as much as
twenty per cent, amongst them."
"Indeed, Mr Prayle."
"Yes, madam, indeed," said the young man, as solemnly as if it had been
some religious question.
"That settles it then," said Aunt Sophia cheerfully.
"My dear madam?"
"If they pay twenty per cent, the thing is not honest."
"My dear madam, I am speaking of no special undertaking," said Prayle;
"only generally."
"Special or general," said Aunt Sophia dogmatically, "any undertaking
that pays more than five per cent, is either exceptionally fortunate or
exceptionally dishonest. Take my advice, Mr Prayle, and if ever you
have any spare cash to invest, put it in consols. The interest is low,
but it is sure, and whenever you want your money you can get it in an
hour without waiting for settling days. There, as you are so soon
going, I will say good-morning and good-bye."
She held out her hand, which was taken with a great show of respect, and
then they parted.
"The old girl is cunning," said Arthur Prayle to himself; "but she will
bite, and I shall land her yet."
"Ugh! How I do hate that smooth, dark, unpleasant man!" said Aunt
Sophia, hurrying up to her bedroom. "He always puts me in mind of a
slimy snake."
Moved by this idea, Aunt Sophia carefully washed her hands in two
different waters, and even went so far as to smell her right hand
afterwards, in happy ignorance of the fact that snakes are not slimy,
but have skins that are tolerably dry and clean. So she sniffed in an
angry kind of way at the hand she washed, though its scent was only that
of old brown Windsor soap, which had for the time being, in her
prejudiced mind, become an odour symbolical of deceit and all that was
base and bad.
"Ah!" she exclaimed, after another good rub, and another sniff; "that's
better now."
An hour later, the doctor, Prayle, and Mr Saxby had taken their leave,
the last fully under the impression that he had lost a very excellent
client.
"Most pragmatical old lady," he said to the doctor.
"Well, she has all the crotchets of an old maid," said Scales. "Ought
to have married thirty or forty years ago. I don't dislike her though."
"Humph! I didn't, yesterday, Doctor Scales," said Saxby; "to-day, I'm
afraid I do. How she could ever have had such a niece!"
Prayle looked up quickly.
"Ah, it does seem curious," said the doctor with a dry look of amusement
on his countenance. "Would it not be more correct to say, one wonders
that the young lady could ever have had such an aunt?"
"Eh? Yes! Of course you are right," said Mr Saxby, nodding. "Or, no!
Oh, no! That won't do, you know. Impossible. I was right. Eh? No;
I was not. Tut--tut! how confusing these relationships are."
Mr Saxby discoursed upon stocks right through the journey up; and Mr
Prayle either assumed to, or really did go to sleep, only awakening to
take an effusive farewell of his companions at the terminus; while
Saxby, to the doctor's discomposure, took his arm, saying, "I'm going
your way," and walked by his side, talking of the weather, till, turning
suddenly, he said: "I say: fair play's a jewel, doctor. Are we both--
eh?--Miss Naomi?"
"What, I?--thinking of her? My dear sir, no!"
"Thank you, doctor. First time I'm ill, I'll come to you. That's a
load off my mind!"
"But really, Mr Saxby, you should have asked Mr Prayle that question."
"Eh? What? You don't think so, do you?"
"I should be sorry to pass any judgment upon the matter, Mr Saxby,"
said the doctor quietly; "and now we part. Good-day."
"Prayle, eh?" said Saxby. "Well, I never thought of him, and--Ah, she's
about the nicest, simplest, and sweetest girl I ever saw! But, Prayle!"
People wondered why the smartly dressed City man stopped short and
removed his glossy hat to rub one ear.
Volume 1, Chapter XV.