"Surely," she said, "this humility is exaggerated."
"Anyhow," I said, "I'll do my best, so fire away."
"What," she said, "does one do with a legal document?"
"Isn't this rather sudden?" I said. "'What does one do with a legal document?' My dear, one does a thousand things. One buys land, or sells it—which is much better. One gets separated, or, rather, two get separated; one gets a legacy, generally quite inadequate; one executes a mortgage, but you mustn't ask me who is the mortgagor and who is the mortgagee, for, upon my sacred word of honour, I never can remember which is which or who does what. One leaves one's money to one's beloved wife by a legal document, or one cuts her off with a shilling and one's second best bed, like Shakspeare, you know. Really, there's nothing you can't do with a legal document."
"How on earth," she said admiringly, "did you get to know all these things?"
"Oh, I don't know," I said. "One learns as one goes along. Men have to know more or less about the law."
"Tell me," she said; "do you feel paralysed when you see a legal document?"
"No, not now. They used to make me tremble, but I'm up to them now. I understand their jargon."
"And frankly," she said, "I don't."
"But that doesn't matter," I said. "You've got a man——"