The lawyer was busy with his own thoughts. He only enlightened Mr. Gallilee after the question had been repeated.
“I had the sincerest regard for Mr. Robert Graywell,” he said. “A better husband and father—and don’t let me forget it, a more charming artist—never lived. But,” said Mr. Mool, with the air of one strong-minded man appealing to another: “weak, sadly weak. If you will allow me to say so, your wife’s self-asserting way—well, it was so unlike her brother’s way, that it had its effect on him! If Lady Northlake had been a little less quiet and retiring, the matter might have ended in a very different manner. As it was (I don’t wish to put the case offensively) Mrs. Gallilee imposed on him—and there she is, in authority, under the Will. Let that be. We must protect this poor girl. We must act!” cried Mr. Mool with a burst of energy.
“We must act!” Mr. Gallilee repeated—and feebly clenched his fist, and softly struck the table.
“I think I have an idea,” the lawyer proceeded; “suggested by something said to me by Miss Carmina herself. May I ask if you are in her confidence?”
Mr. Gallilee’s face brightened at this. “Certainly,” he answered. “I always kiss her when we say good-night, and kiss her again when we say good-morning.”
This proof of his friend’s claims as Carmina’s chosen adviser, seemed rather to surprise Mr. Mool. “Did she ever hint at an idea of hastening her marriage?” he inquired.
Plainly as the question was put, it thoroughly puzzled Mr. Gallilee. His honest face answered for him—he was not in Carmina’s confidence. Mr. Mool returned to his idea.
“The one thing we can do,” he said, “is to hasten Mr. Ovid’s return. There is the only course to take—as I see it.”
“Let’s do it at once!” cried Mr. Gallilee.
“But tell me,” Mr. Mool insisted, greedy for encouragement—“does my suggestion relieve your mind?”