Mr Carver was still puzzled. Why his client should have taken such a strange course with his money, and why he had not come to him and made his last will in a straightforward manner, was a circumstance he could not fathom. But wiser men than the astute lawyer have been puzzled ere now by the idiosyncrasies of man, and Mr Carver was only pondering upon a subject which has been and will be a theme with philosophers for all time.
‘Why could he not have come to me?’ he asked at length.
‘I think it is easily understood,’ explained Felix; ‘and the principal reason was fear. According to your own showing, Mr Morton was moody and fanciful, possessing a highly-strung nervous system, and easily impressed. That woman’s stronger will stifled his. I am under no obligation to her, but she possesses a mesmeric eye which has a peculiar effect upon me. Besides this, it is evident he never trusted her. He must have known, had he communicated with you, that she would sooner or later discover it, hence his strange conduct. The method, to me, savours strongly of a madman’s cunning. It is proverbial that such men trust no one.’
‘It is rather idle to speculate upon it now,’ Edgar said cheerfully. ‘Justice has been done at last, and we are satisfied.’
‘We are all satisfied,’ exclaimed Mr Carver. ‘You have your money, and Bates has his partnership.—Eh, Bates?’ slapping that individual with great heartiness on the back—‘eh, Bates?’
‘I suppose so, sir,’ replied that misanthrope gravely; ‘but the whole matter is highly unprofessional. There is a lack of business form about it.’
‘Ah, ah!’ laughed Mr Carver—‘just like Bates; no sentiment—no poetry’——
‘And no romance,’ put in Edgar.
It was a merry group. Mr Slimm was talking to Eleanor, making her laugh at his quaint American saws, and she was telling him of her strange dream, and how it had all come true. Edgar and Mr Carver were badgering Bates upon his gloomy state; and Felix was amusing and instructing little Nelly with a bewildering, awe-inspiring fairy tale—the little one, who had been a silent spectator of the proceedings, and knew by some childish instinct that some happy event had happened.
‘Ring down the curtain—the thing is played out,’ Edgar said; ‘and now back again to London town, Nelly.’