“Your nephew has evidently fallen into a trap, your Grace,” said he. Then turning to Jones:
“I warned you not to sell that land—Heaven knows I knew little enough of the district and less of its mineral worth; still, I was adverse from parting with land—always am—and especially to such a sharp customer as Mulhausen. I told you to have an expert opinion. I had not minerals in my mind. I thought, possibly, it might be some railway extension in prospect—and it was your last bit of property without mortgage on it. Yes, I told you not to do it, and it’s done.”
“Oh, Arthur,” sighed the elderly woman. “Your last bit of land—and to think it should go like that. I never dreamed I should have to say those words to my son.” Then stiffening and turning to Collins. “But I did not come to complain, I came to see if justice cannot be done. This is robbery. That terrible man with the German name has robbed Arthur. It is quite plain. What can be done?”
“Absolutely nothing,” replied Collins.
“Nothing?”
“Your ladyship must believe me when I say nothing can be done. What ground can we have for moving? The sale was perfectly open and above board. Mulhausen made no false statement—I am right in saying that, am I not?” turning to Jones.
Jones had to nod.
“And that being the case we are helpless.”
“But if it can be proved that he knew there was coal in the land, and if he bought it concealing that knowledge, surely, surely the law can make him give it back,” said the simple old lady, who it would seem stood in the place of Rochester’s unfortunate mother.
Mr. Collins almost smiled.