“He had got one, but he didn’t want one, and he hadn’t got one and he had a jolly good one.�
“One what?� asked Crane irritably. “Seems like a missing word competition.�
“I’ve got the prize,� observed Hood placidly. “The missing word is ‘solicitor.’ What he means is that the police took liberties with him because they knew he would not have a lawyer. And he is perfectly right; for when I took the matter up on his behalf, I soon found that they had put themselves on the wrong side of the law at least as much as he had. In short, I was able to extricate him from this police business; hence his hearty if not lucid gratitude. But he goes on to talk about something rather more personal; and I think it really has been a rather interesting case, if he does not exactly shine as a narrator of it. As I dare say you noticed, I did know something of the lady whom our eccentric friend went courting years ago, rather in the spirit of Sir Roger de Coverley when he went courting the widow. She is a Miss Julia Drake, daughter of a country gentleman. I hope you won’t misunderstand me if I say that she is a rather formidable lady. She is really a thoroughly good sort; but that air of the black-browed Juno she has about her does correspond to some real qualities. She is one of those people who can manage big enterprises, and the bigger they are the happier she is. When that sort of force functions within the limits of a village or a small valley, the impact is sometimes rather overpowering. You saw her managing the White Elephant Sale at Ponder’s End. Well, if it had been literally an army of wild elephants, it would hardly have been on too large a scale for her tastes. In that sense, I may say that our friend’s white elephant was not so much of a white elephant. I mean that in that sense it was not so much of an irrelevancy and hardly even a surprise. But in another way, it was a very great relief.�
“You’re getting nearly as obscure as he is,� remonstrated Pierce. “What is all this mysterious introduction leading up to? What do you mean?�
“I mean,� replied the lawyer, “that experience has taught me a little secret about very practical public characters like that lady. It sounds a paradox; but those practical people are often more morbid than theoretical people. They are capable of acting; but they are also capable of brooding when they are not acting. Their very stoicism makes too sentimental a secret of their sentimentalism. They misunderstand those they love; and make a mystery of the misunderstanding. They suffer in silence; a horrid habit. In short, they can do everything; but they don’t know how to do nothing. Theorists, happy people who do nothing, like our friend Pierce——�
“Look here,� cried the indignant Pierce. “I should like to know what the devil you mean? I’ve broken more law than you ever read in your life. If this psychological lecture is the new lucidity, give me Mr. White.�
“Oh, very well,� replied Hood, “if you prefer his text to my exposition, he describes the same situation as follows: ‘I ought to be grateful, being perfectly happy after all this muddle; I suppose one ought to be careful about nomenclature; but it never even occurred to me that her nose would be out of joint. Rather funny to be talking about noses, isn’t it, for I suppose really it was her rival’s nose that figured most prominently. Think of having a rival with a nose like that to turn up at you! Talk about a spire pointing to the stars——’�
“I think,� said Crane, interposing mildly, “that it would be better if you resumed your duties as official interpreter. What was it that you were going to say about the lady who brooded over misunderstandings?�
“I was going to say,� replied the lawyer, “that when I first came upon that crowd in the village, and saw that tall figure and dark strong face dominating it in the old way, my mind went back to a score of things I remembered about her in the past. Though we have not met for ten years, I knew from the first glimpse of her face that she had been worrying, in a powerful secretive sort of way; worrying about something she didn’t understand and would not inquire about. I remember long ago, when she was an ordinary fox-hunting squire’s daughter and White was one of Sydney Smith’s wild curates, how she sulked for two months over a mistake about a post-card that could have been explained in two minutes. At least it could have been explained by anybody except White. But you will understand that if he tried to explain the post-card on another post-card, the results may not have been luminous, let alone radiant.�
“But what has all this to do with noses?� inquired Pierce.