He explained one or two points in lunacy law, began sketching a scheme of operations, considered the people to whom she ought to write and the people to whom he ought to write, and how soon it would be possible to see Preemby, and give him a word of encouragement. Already Devizes had had several brushes with lunacy organization; he was considered a troublesome but dangerous man for a medical superintendent to be up against. That might arouse either hostile obstruction or the propitiatory spirit. They must go carefully.
Lambone scarcely interrupted now at all. He had ceased to be acutely interested in Preemby, immured away there in Cummerdown. He was lost in admiration of the self-control his astonishing friends displayed. He tried to imagine what an undertow of strange excitement, of queer thoughts and confused emotions there must be beneath their highly intelligent discussion of the case of Mr. Preemby. They wasted very little attention upon the onlooker. Christina Alberta’s face was faintly flushed, and her eyes glowed; Devizes was rather less of a conversationalist than usual and rather more like a university tutor with an exceptionally interesting student.
The subject was exhausted at last and the time came to depart. Devizes came to the door with them.
“Don’t forget that I’m always round the corner, so to speak,” he said. “I’m in the telephone directory. And don’t forget, Christina Alberta, don’t forget I’m your long-lost cousin, very much at your service.”
“I won’t forget that,” said Christina Alberta, meeting his eye.
A little pause, and then rather stiffly they shook hands.
§ 7
“Am I mad?” said Christina Alberta as soon as she and Paul Lambone were in the street together. “Am I dreaming?”
Lambone was clumsy. “Mad? Dreaming? How?”
“Oh! don’t pretend not to understand. That he’s my real father? Don’t pretend! or, please don’t pretend! Is he or is he not?”