We give the reader a skeleton sketch of most conversations of the kind, just to show how Dalby had got on so well; and, by means such as these, he was factotum to half the needy of those kind of slaves in town, so no wonder he resolved to relinquish quiet country practice.
"Don't I tell you," said Burton, continuing a conversation, "that I had no idea the fellow was coming. Gray made his acquaintance in Florence, but I never imagined it would be continued in town; the fellow is making his way every where—curse him!" and he ground his teeth bitterly.
"We'll clip his wings," answered Dalby; "but it must be done through her—she is his guiding star in all. If he lost her—well; he would soon disappear from our path."
"I hate that man, Dalby, yet I would not seriously injure him; but why he, an artist, cannot return to Italy, seems astonishing to me—'tis his proper field."
"There are too many there; moreover, he has some scheme in hand I cannot fathom. I discovered Mary Burns. She is residing in a very humble cottage near Kentish Town; part of the house she lets furnished, and ekes out an existence for herself and blind mother, by morning lessons as governess. He has established her thus."
"And does—does"—he couldn't say Mrs. Tremenhere. "Does his wife ever call there?"
"I think so. I looked in at an hour when Mary was absent, having ascertained when this was the case. I called as a stranger about lessons for my daughter, and saw the old mother; but she is deaf, blind, and half childish. She gave me little information. All she said was, 'Kind friends—old friends, very kind; so Mary says.' I rely more on what I elicited, guardedly, from the servant. I think more may be done there. The girl has a downcast look and a fixed smile, which betoken one to be perhaps bought. Some of these blind fools to their interest, are faithful to their employers—what business has the hireling to look to any thing but money?"
"True—but don't trust her too soon."
"No, nor by myself. I will set another to work, who knows only what I tell him—one of the red waistcoat messengers. Tell him a woman's in the case, and he will be alert and faithful. This girl said, a sweet fair lady and tall gentleman called sometimes—these must be the man and his wife."
"Well, I leave it in your hands. Fancy my being obliged to leave Uplands! Fortunately, Gray, who is the most harum-scarum host in the world, let the name escape only the day he was expected. Of course, I could not stay and meet him; I told him we had had some discussion, and that the contact would be unpleasant to both. The fellow has nouse enough to keep a still tongue. No one seems acquainted with former facts; he is only known as a rising artist, of good family, they think;—well, so he is on one side. I hinted no relationship, and begged Gray to insinuate from himself, to the dozen assembled there, that we had been on unfriendly terms, and thus prevent my name being mentioned."