CHAPTER XXVIII

EVENTS OF MONDAY: THE LAWYER'S PARTY

By half-past eight o'clock on the next morning, I was ringing the bell

of the lawyer's office in Castle Street, where I found him ensconced at

a business table, in a room surrounded by several tiers of green tin

cases. He greeted me like an old friend.

"Come away, sir, come away!" said he. "Here is the dentist ready for

you, and I think I can promise you that the operation will be

practically painless."

"I am not so sure of that, Mr. Robbie," I replied, as I shook hands with

him. "But at least there shall be no time lost with me."

I had to confess to having gone a-roving with a pair of drovers and

their cattle, to having used a false name, to having murdered or

half-murdered a fellow-creature in a scuffle on the moors, and to having

suffered a couple of quite innocent men to lie some time in prison on a

charge from which I could have immediately freed them. All this I gave

him first of all, to be done with the worst of it; and all this he took

with gravity, but without the least appearance of surprise.

"Now, sir," I continued, "I expect to have to pay for my unhappy frolic,

but I would like very well if it could be managed without my personal

appearance or even the mention of my real name. I had so much wisdom as

to sail under false colours in this foolish jaunt of mine; my family

would be extremely concerned if they had wind of it; but at the same

time, if the case of this Faa has terminated fatally, and there are

proceedings against Sim and Candlish, I am not going to stand by and

see them vexed, far less punished; and I authorise you to give me up for

trial if you think that best--or, if you think it unnecessary, in the

meanwhile to make preparations for their defence. I hope, sir, that I am

as little anxious to be Quixotic as I am determined to be just."

"Very fairly spoken," said Mr. Robbie. "It is not much in my line, as

doubtless your friend, Mr. Romaine, will have told you. I rarely mix

myself up with anything on the criminal side, or approaching it.

However, for a young gentleman like you, I may stretch a point, and I

dare say I may be able to accomplish more than perhaps another. I will

go at once to the Procurator Fiscal's office and inquire."

"Wait a moment, Mr. Robbie," said I. "You forget the chapter of

expenses. I had thought, for a beginning, of placing a thousand pounds

in your hands."

"My dear sir, you will kindly wait until I render you my bill," said Mr.

Robbie severely.

"It seemed to me," I protested, "that coming to you almost as a

stranger, and placing in your hands a piece of business so contrary to

your habits, some substantial guarantee of my good faith----"

"Not the way that we do business in Scotland, sir," he interrupted, with

an air of closing the dispute.

"And yet, Mr. Robbie," I continued, "I must ask you to allow me to

proceed. I do not merely refer to the expenses of the case. I have my

eye besides on Sim and Candlish. They are thoroughly deserving fellows;

they have been subjected through me to a considerable term of

imprisonment; and I suggest, sir, that you should not spare money for

their indemnification. This will explain," I added, smiling, "my offer

of the thousand pounds. It was in the nature of a measure by which you

should judge the scale on which I can afford to have this business

carried through."

"I take you perfectly, Mr. Ducie," said he. "But the sooner I am off,

the better this affair is likely to be guided. My clerk will show you

into the waiting-room and give you the day's _Caledonian Mercury_ and

the last _Register_ to amuse yourself with in the interval."

I believe Mr. Robbie was at least three hours gone. I saw him descend

from a cab at the door, and almost immediately after I was shown again

into his study, where the solemnity of his manner led me to augur the

worst. For some time he had the inhumanity to read me a lecture as to

the incredible silliness, "not to say immorality," of my behaviour. "I

have the satisfaction in telling you my opinion, because it appears that

you are going to get off scot-free," he continued, where, indeed, I

thought he might have begun.

"The man Faa has been dischairged cured; and the two men, Sim and

Candlish, would have been leeberated long ago, if it had not been for

their extraordinary loyalty to yourself, Mr. Ducie--or Mr. St. Ivey, as

I believe I should now call you. Never a word would either of the two

old fools volunteer that in any manner pointed at the existence of such

a person; and when they were confronted with Faa's version of the

affair, they gave accounts so entirely discrepant with their own former

declarations, as well as with each other, that the Fiscal was quite

nonplussed, and imaigined there was something behind it. You may believe

I soon laughed him out of that! And I had the satisfaction of seeing

your two friends set free, and very glad to be on the causeway again."

"O sir," I cried, "you should have brought them here!"

"No instructions, Mr. Ducie!" said he. "How did I know you wished to

renew an acquaintance which you had just terminated so fortunately? And,

indeed, to be frank with you, I should have set my face against it, if

you had! Let them go! They are paid and contented, and have the highest

possible opinion of Mr. St. Ivey! When I gave them fifty pounds

apiece--which was rather more than enough, Mr. Ducie, whatever you may

think--the man Sim, who has the only tongue of the party, struck his

staff on the ground. 'Weel,' says he, 'I aye said he was a gentleman!'

'Man Sim,' said I, 'that was just what Mr. St. Ivey said of yourself!'"

"So it was a case of 'Compliments fly when gentlefolk meet.'"

"No, no, Mr. Ducie, man Sim and man Candlish are gone out of your life,

and a good riddance! They are fine fellows in their way, but no proper

associates for the like of yourself; and do you finally agree to be done

with all eccentricity--take up with no more drovers, or rovers, or

tinkers, but enjoy the naitural pleesures for which your age, your

wealth, your intelligence, and (if I may be allowed to say it) your

appearance so completely fit you. And the first of these," quoth he,

looking at his watch, "will be to step through to my dining-room and

share a bachelor's luncheon."

Over the meal, which was good, Mr. Robbie continued to develop the same

theme. "You're, no doubt, what they call a dancing-man?" said he. "Well,

on Thursday night there is the Assembly Ball. You must certainly go

there, and you must permit me besides to do the honours of the ceety and

send you a ticket. I am a thorough believer in a young man being a young

man--but no more drovers or rovers, if you love me! Talking of which

puts me in mind that you may be short of partners at the Assembly--O, I

have been young myself!--and if ye care to come to anything so

portentously tedious as a tea-party at the house of a bachelor lawyer,

consisting mainly of his nieces and nephews, and his grand-nieces and

grand-nephews, and his wards, and generally the whole clan of the

descendants of his clients, you might drop in to-night towards seven

o'clock. I think I can show you one or two that are worth looking at,

and you can dance with them later on at the Assembly."

He proceeded to give me a sketch of one or two eligible young ladies

whom I might expect to meet. "And then there's my parteecular friend,

Miss Flora," said he. "But I'll make no attempt of a description. You

shall see her for yourself."

It will be readily supposed that I accepted his invitation; and returned

home to make a toilette worthy of her I was to meet and the good news of

which I was the bearer. The toilette, I have reason to believe, was a

success. Mr. Rowley dismissed me with a farewell: "Crikey! Mr. Anne, but

you do look prime!" Even the stony Bethiah was--how shall I

say?--dazzled, but scandalised, by my appearance; and while, of course,

she deplored the vanity that led to it, she could not wholly prevent

herself from admiring the result.

"Ay, Mr. Ducie, this is a poor employment for a way-faring Christian

man!" she said. "Wi' Christ despised and rejectit in all pairts of the

world, and the flag of the Covenant flung doon, you will be muckle

better on your knees! However, I'll have to confess that it sets you

weel. And if it's the lassie ye're gaun to see the nicht, I suppose I'll

just have to excuse ye! Bairns maun be bairns!" she said, with a sigh.

"I mind when Mr. McRankine came courtin', and that's lang by-gane--I

mind I had a green gown, passementit, that was thocht to become me to

admiration. I was nae just exactly what ye would ca' bonny; but I was

pale, penetratin', and interestin'." And she leaned over the stair-rail

with a candle to watch my descent as long as it should be possible.

It was but a little party of Mr. Robbie's--by which I do not so much

mean that there were few people, for the rooms were crowded, as that

there was very little attempted to entertain them. In one apartment

there were tables set out, where the elders were solemnly engaged upon

whist; in the other and larger one, a great number of youths of both

sexes entertained themselves languidly, the ladies sitting upon chairs

to be courted, the gentlemen standing about in various attitudes of

insinuation or indifference. Conversation appeared the sole resource,

except in so far as it was modified by a number of keepsakes and annuals

which lay dispersed upon the tables, and of which the young beaux

displayed the illustrations to the ladies. Mr. Robbie himself was

customarily in the card-room; only now and again, when he cut out, he

made an incursion among the young folks, and rolled about jovially from

one to another, the very picture of the general uncle.

It chanced that Flora had met Mr. Robbie in the course of the afternoon.

"Now, Miss Flora," he had said, "come early, for I have a Phoenix to

show you--one Mr. Ducie, a new client of mine that, I vow, I have fallen

in love with"; and he was so good as to add a word or two on my

appearance, from which Flora conceived a suspicion of the truth. She had

come to the party, in consequence, on the knife-edge of anticipation and

alarm; had chosen a place by the door, where I found her, on my arrival,

surrounded by a posse of vapid youths; and, when I drew near, sprang up

to meet me in the most natural manner in the world, and, obviously, with

a prepared form of words.

"How do you do, Mr. Ducie?" she said. "It is quite an age since I have

seen you!"

"I have much to tell you, Miss Gilchrist," I replied. "May I sit down?"

For the artful girl, by sitting near the door, and the judicious use of

her shawl, had contrived to keep a chair empty by her side.

She made room for me as a matter of course, and the youths had the

discretion to melt before us. As soon as I was once seated her fan flew

out, and she whispered behind it--

"Are you mad?"

"Madly in love," I replied; "but in no other sense."

"I have no patience! You cannot understand what I am suffering!" she

said. "What are you to say to Ronald, to Major Chevenix, to my aunt?"

"Your aunt?" I cried, with a start. "_Peccavi_! is she here?"

"She is in the card-room at whist," said Flora.

"Where she will probably stay all the evening?" I suggested.

"She may," she admitted; "she generally does!"

"Well, then, I must avoid the card-room," said I, "which is very much

what I had counted upon doing. I did not come here to play cards, but to

contemplate a certain young lady to my heart's content--if it can ever

be contented!--and to tell her some good news."

"But there are still Ronald and the Major!" she persisted. "They are not

card-room fixtures! Ronald will be coming and going. And as for Mr.

Chevenix, he----"

"Always sits with Miss Flora?" I interrupted. "And they talk of poor St.

Ives? I had gathered as much, my dear; and Mr. Ducie has come to prevent

it! But pray dismiss these fears! I mind no one but your aunt."

"Why my aunt?"

"Because your aunt is a lady, my dear, and a very clever lady, and, like

all clever ladies, a very rash lady," said I. "You can never count upon

them, unless you are sure of getting them in a corner, as I have got

you, and talking them over rationally, as I am just engaged on with

yourself! It would be quite the same to your aunt to make the worst kind

of a scandal, with an equal indifference to my danger and to the

feelings of our good host!"

"Well," she said, "and what of Ronald, then? Do you think _he_ is above

making a scandal? You must know him very little!"

"On the other hand, it is my pretension that I know him very well!" I

replied. "I must speak to Ronald first--not Ronald to me--that is all!"

"Then, please, go and speak to him at once!" she pleaded. "He is

there--do you see?--at the upper end of the room, talking to that girl

in pink."

"And so lose this seat before I have told you my good news?" I

exclaimed. "Catch me! And, besides, my dear one, think a little of me

and my good news! I thought the bearer of good news was always welcome!

I hoped he might be a little welcome for himself! Consider! I have but

one friend; and let me stay by her! And there is only one thing I care

to hear; and let me hear it!"

"O Anne," she sighed, "if I did not love you, why should I be so uneasy?

I am turned into a coward, dear! Think, if it were the other way

round--if you were quite safe and I was in, O, such danger!"

She had no sooner said it than I was convicted of being a dullard. "God

forgive me, dear!" I made haste to reply, "I never saw before that there

were two sides to this!" And I told her my tale as briefly as I could,

and rose to seek Ronald. "You see, my dear, you are obeyed," I said.

She gave me a look that was a reward in itself; and as I turned away

from her, with a strong sense of turning away from the sun, I carried

that look in my bosom like a caress. The girl in pink was an arch,

ogling person, with a good deal of eyes and teeth, and a great play of

shoulders and rattle of conversation. There could be no doubt, from Mr.

Ronald's attitude, that he worshipped the very chair she sat on. But I

was quite ruthless. I laid my hand on his shoulder, as he was stooping

over her like a hen over a chicken.

"Excuse me for one moment, Mr. Gilchrist!" said I.

He started and span about in answer to my touch, and exhibited a face of

inarticulate wonder.

"Yes!" I continued, "it is even myself! Pardon me for interrupting so

agreeable a _tete-a-tete_, but you know, my good fellow, we owe a first

duty to Mr. Robbie. It would never do to risk making a scene in the

man's drawing-room; so the first thing I had to attend to was to have

you warned. The name I go by is Ducie, too, in case of accidents."

"I--I say, you know!" cried Ronald. "Deuce take it, what are you doing

here?"

"Hush, hush!" said I. "Not the place, my dear fellow--not the place.

Come to my rooms, if you like, to-night after the party, or to-morrow in

the morning, and we can talk it out over a segar. But here, you know, it

really won't do at all."

Before he could collect his mind for an answer, I had given him my

address in St. James' Square, and had again mingled with the crowd.

Alas! I was not fated to get back to Flora so easily! Mr. Robbie was in

the path: he was insatiably loquacious; and as he continued to palaver I

watched the insipid youths gather again about my idol, and cursed my

fate and my host. He remembered suddenly that I was to attend the

Assembly Ball on Thursday, and had only attended to-night by way of a

preparative. This put it into his head to present me to another young

lady; but I managed this interview with so much art that, while I was

scrupulously polite and even cordial to the fair one, I contrived to

keep Robbie beside me all the time, and to leave along with him when the

ordeal was over. We were just walking away arm in arm, when I spied my

friend the Major approaching, stiff as a ramrod and, as usual,

obtrusively clean.

"O! there's a man I want to know," said I, taking the bull by the horns.

"Won't you introduce me to Major Chevenix?"

"At a word, my dear fellow," said Robbie; and "Major!" he cried, "come

here and let me present to you my friend Mr. Ducie, who desires the

honour of your acquaintance."

The Major flushed visibly, but otherwise preserved his composure. He

bowed very low. "I'm not very sure," he said: "I have an idea we have

met before?"

"Informally," I said, returning his bow; "and I have long looked forward

to the pleasure of regularising our acquaintance."

"You are very good, Mr. Ducie," he returned. "Perhaps you could aid my

memory a little? Where was it that I had the pleasure?"

"O, that would be telling tales out of school," said I, with a laugh,

"and before my lawyer, too!"

"I'll wager," broke in Mr. Robbie, "that, when you knew my client,

Chevenix--the past of our friend Mr. Ducie is an obscure chapter full of

horrid secrets--I'll wager, now, you knew him as St. Ivey," says he,

nudging me violently.

"I think not, sir," said the Major, with pinched lips.

"Well, I wish he may prove all right!" continued the lawyer, with

certainly the worst-inspired jocularity in the world. "I know nothing by

him! He may be a swell mobsman for me with his aliases. You must put

your memory on the rack, Major, and when ye've remembered when and where

ye've met him, be sure ye tell me."

"I will not fail, sir," said Chevenix.

"Seek to him!" cried Robbie, waving his hand as he departed.

The Major, as soon as we were alone, turned upon me his impassive

countenance.

"Well," he said, "you have courage."

"It is undoubted as your honour, sir," I returned, bowing.

"Did you expect to meet me, may I ask?" said he.

"You saw, at least, that I courted the presentation," said I.

"And you were not afraid?" said Chevenix.

"I was perfectly at ease. I knew I was dealing with a gentleman. Be that

your epitaph."

"Well, there are some other people looking for you," he said, "who will

make no bones about the point of honour. The police, my dear sir, are

simply agog about you."

"And I think that that was coarse," said I.

"You have seen Miss Gilchrist?" he inquired, changing the subject.

"With whom, I am led to understand, we are on a footing of rivalry?" I

asked. "Yes, I have seen her."

"And I was just seeking her," he replied.

I was conscious of a certain thrill of temper; so, I suppose, was he. We

looked each other up and down.

"The situation is original," he resumed.

"Quite," said I. "But let me tell you frankly you are blowing a cold

coal. I owe you so much for your kindness to the prisoner Champdivers."

"Meaning that the lady's affections are more advantageously disposed

of?" he asked, with a sneer. "Thank you, I am sure. And, since you have

given me a lead, just hear a word of good advice in your turn. Is it

fair, is it delicate, is it like a gentleman, to compromise the young

lady by attentions which (as you know very well) can come to nothing?"

I was utterly unable to find words in answer.

"Excuse me if I cut this interview short," he went on. "It seems to me

doomed to come to nothing, and there is more attractive metal."

"Yes," I replied, "as you say, it cannot amount to much. You are

impotent, bound hand and foot in honour. You know me to be a man falsely

accused, and even if you did not know it, from your position as my rival

you have only the chance to stand quite still or to be infamous."

"I would not say that," he returned, with another change of colour. "I

may hear it once too often."

With which he moved off straight for where Flora was sitting amidst her

court of vapid youths, and I had no choice but to follow him, a bad

second, and reading myself, as I went, a sharp lesson on the command of

temper.

It is a strange thing how young men in their 'teens go down at the mere

wind of the coming of men of twenty-five and upwards! The vapid ones

fled without thought of resistance before the Major and me; a few

dallied awhile in the neighbourhood--so to speak, with their fingers in

their mouths--but presently these also followed the rout, and we

remained face to face before Flora. There was a draught in that corner

by the door; she had thrown her pelisse over her bare arms and neck, and

the dark fur of the trimming set them off. She shone by contrast; the

light played on her smooth skin to admiration, and the colour changed in

her excited face. For the least fraction of a second she looked from one

to the other of her pair of rival swains, and seemed to hesitate. Then

she addressed Chevenix:

"You are coming to the Assembly, of course, Major Chevenix?" said she.

"I fear not; I fear I shall be otherwise engaged," he replied. "Even the

pleasure of dancing with you, Miss Flora, must give way to duty."

For a while the talk ran harmlessly on the weather, and then branched

off towards the war. It seemed to be by no one's fault; it was in the

air, and had to come.

"Good news from the scene of operations," said the Major.

"Good news while it lasts," I said. "But will Miss Gilchrist tell us her

private thought upon the war? In her admiration for the victors, does

not there mingle some pity for the vanquished?"

"Indeed, sir," she said, with animation, "only too much of it! War is a

subject that I do not think should be talked of to a girl. I am, I have

to be--what do you call it?--a non-combatant? And to remind me of what

others have to do and suffer: no, it is not fair!"

"Miss Gilchrist has the tender female heart," said Chevenix.

"Do not be too sure of that!" she cried. "I would love to be allowed to

fight myself!"

"On which side?" I asked.

"Can you ask?" she exclaimed. "I am a Scottish girl!"

"She is a Scottish girl!" repeated the Major, looking at me. "And no one

grudges you her pity!"

"And I glory in every grain of it she has to spare," said I. "Pity is

akin to love."

"Well, and let us put that question to Miss Gilchrist. It is for her to

decide, and for us to bow to the decision. Is pity, Miss Flora, or is

admiration, nearest love?"

"O, come," said I, "let us be more concrete. Lay before the lady a

complete case: describe your man, then I'll describe _mine_, and Miss

Flora shall decide."

"I think I see your meaning," said he, "and I'll try. You think that

pity--and the kindred sentiments--have the greatest power upon the

heart. I think more nobly of women. To my view, the man they love will

first of all command their respect; he will be steadfast--proud, if you

please; dry, possibly--but of all things steadfast. They will look at

him in doubt; at last they will see that stern face which he presents to

all the rest of the world soften to them alone. First, trust, I say. It

is so that a woman loves who is worthy of heroes."

"Your man is very ambitious, sir," said I, "and very much of a hero!

Mine is a humbler, and, I would fain think, a more human dog. He is one

with no particular trust in himself, with no superior steadfastness to

be admired for, who sees a lady's face, who hears her voice, and,

without any phrase about the matter, falls in love. What does he ask

for, then, but pity?--pity for his weakness, pity for his love, which is

his life. You would make women always the inferiors, gaping up at your

imaginary lover; he, like a marble statue, with his nose in the air! But

God has been wiser than you; and the most steadfast of your heroes may

prove human, after all. We appeal to the queen for judgment," I added,

turning and bowing before Flora.

"And how shall the queen judge?" she asked. "I must give you an answer

that is no answer at all. 'The wind bloweth where it listeth': she goes

where her heart goes."

Her face flushed as she said it; mine also, for I read in it a

declaration, and my heart swelled for joy. But Chevenix grew pale.

"You make of life a very dreadful kind of lottery, ma'am," said he. "But

I will not despair. Honest and unornamental is still my choice."

And I must say he looked extremely handsome and very amusingly like the

marble statue with its nose in the air to which I had compared him.

"I cannot imagine how we got upon this subject," said Flora.

"Madam, it was through the war," replied Chevenix.

"All roads lead to Rome," I commented. "What else would you expect Mr.

Chevenix and myself to talk of?"

About this time I was conscious of a certain bustle and movement in the

room behind me, but did not pay to it that degree of attention which

perhaps would have been wise. There came a certain change in Flora's

face; she signalled repeatedly with her fan; her eyes appealed to me

obsequiously; there could be no doubt that she wanted something--as well

as I could make out, that I should go away and leave the field clear for

my rival, which I had not the least idea of doing. At last she rose from

her chair with impatience.

"I think it time you were saying good-night, Mr. Ducie!" she said.

I could not in the least see why, and said so.

Whereupon she gave me this appalling answer, "My aunt is coming out of

the card-room."

In less time than it takes to tell, I had made my bow and my escape.

Looking back from the doorway I was privileged to see, for a moment, the

august profile and gold eye-glasses of Miss Gilchrist issuing from the

card-room; and the sight lent me wings. I stood not on the order of my

going; and a moment after, I was on the pavement of Castle Street, and

the lighted windows shone down on me, and were crossed by ironical

shadows of those who had remained behind.