Mr. Cato’s work was no light matter. He followed the case in every
stage; he explained it all to the solicitors, and re-explained it to
different layers of barristers. Every new document was submitted to him
for revision. He was tormented all the time by anxiety for the future;
his fortune was not a large one, and he had to reduce his capital to
a very serious extent in order to meet the preliminary expenses of the
case. The Prince, his guest, must indeed miss no comfort in his house;
but in every other respect he enjoined the strictest economy on his
sisters.
There were other things also to be thought of. The Prince’s ignorance
on many subjects was astonishing; his questions showed it. This was,
of course, natural in a native; but if he was to be a social success
in England, then, in spite of his age, it was necessary that he should
have some education. The Prince raised no objection. He had taken quite
a fancy to Miss Briscoe, who appeared at first in the character of a
guest at lunch, with no suggestion of the governess about her. A big
genial woman of fifty, with thick black eyebrows, and an indomitable
belief in the Christian fellowship of all men in this wonderful world,
she brought light into Dwala’s life.
For it must be confessed that the Prince’s first impression of this
long-desired civilisation was one of disappointment. It was undoubtedly
dull in Mr. Cato’s house. Mr. Cato was out all day; and though his
aunt was a dear old lady in her way, and his sisters two of the most
charitable creatures in the neighbourhood, nobody would have called
them lively company for a Missing Link. The indoor life told upon his
health; the clockwork regularity of the daily round and the entire
absence of events reduced his spirits to the lowest depth. He had
been accustomed in his childhood to the happy vicissitudes of forest
life; to the pleasure of escaping thunderstorms and beasts of prey;
to the relief of calm sleep after weeks of storm-rocked trees; to the
wild delight after long hunger of finding more than he could eat. It
maddened him to hear these old ladies chattering over tiny pulsations
of monotony as it they were events; to hear them discussing the paltry
British weather under an impervious roof; to hear them talk of burglars
in the next parish as if they were tigers on the lower branches; to
learn that Julia’s quarrel with Mrs. Armstrong had ended in changing
her doctor, when he had pictured her tearing handfuls of fur out of
Mrs. Armstrong’s back. He longed to throttle the smug butcher who
brought the daily tray of meat, robbing life of all the pleasure of
desire.
When he first arrived the Prince had been so easily amused. It was
enough for him to sit at a window and watch the men mending the road;
to follow the housemaid from room to room and see her make the beds;
to help to screw a leaf into the dining-room table; to dust Mr.
Cato’s books. It was, therefore, a great surprise to his host when he
blurted this out one evening. Had it been one of his nephews from the
country--his youngest sister married the Rector of Woolcombing--Mr.
Cato would have known what to do; he would have treated him to some
of those amusements which are provided for country nephews; taken him
to the British Museum, South Kensington, the Tower of London, or the
College of Mining in Jermyn Street; he would have contrived little
outings on omnibuses, ending with tea at an Aërated Bread shop. But the
Prince seemed too old for these things; the weather was bad; Mr. Cato
was busy, and he had determined to keep him at Hampstead till things
had settled down and he knew his proper social value.