Mrs. Gallilee, at seven o’clock in the evening! Mrs. Gallilee, without a previous appointment by letter! Mr. Mool trembled under the apprehension of some serious family emergency, in imminent need of legal interference. He submitted as a matter of course. “Show the lady in.”
Before a word had passed between them, the lawyer’s mind was relieved. Mrs. Gallilee shone on him with her sweetest smiles; pressed his hand with her friendliest warmth; admired the nosegay with her readiest enthusiasm. “Quite perfect,” she said—“especially the Pansy. The round flat edge, Mr. Mool; the upper petals perfectly uniform—there is a flower that defies criticism! I long to dissect it.”
Mr. Mool politely resigned the Pansy to dissection (murderous mutilation, he would have called it, in the case of one of his own flowers), and waited to hear what his learned client might have to say to him.
“I am going to surprise you,” Mrs. Gallilee announced. “No—to shock you. No—even that is not strong enough. Let me say, to horrify you.”
Mr. Mool’s anxieties returned, complicated by confusion. The behaviour of Mrs. Gallilee exhibited the most unaccountable contrast to her language. She showed no sign of those strong emotions to which she had alluded. “How am I to put it?” she went on, with a transparent affectation of embarrassment. “Shall I call it a disgrace to our family?” Mr. Mool started. Mrs. Gallilee entreated him to compose himself; she approached the inevitable disclosure by degrees. “I think,” she said, “you have met Doctor Benjulia at my house?”
“I have had that honour, Mrs. Gallilee. Not a very sociable person—if I may venture to say so.”
“Downright rude, Mr. Mool, on some occasions. But that doesn’t matter now. I have just been visiting the doctor.”
Was this visit connected with the “disgrace to the family?” Mr. Mool ventured to put a question.
“Doctor Benjulia is not related to you, ma’am—is he?”
“Not the least in the world. Please don’t interrupt me again. I am, so to speak, laying a train of circumstances before you; and I might leave one of them out. When Doctor Benjulia was a young man—I am returning to my train of circumstances, Mr. Mool—he was at Rome, pursuing his professional studies. I have all this, mind, straight from the doctor himself. At Rome, he became acquainted with my late brother, after the period of his unfortunate marriage. Stop! I have failed to put it strongly enough again. I ought to have said, his disgraceful marriage.”