“The man is mad!” cried the Major. “In all England you could not have picked out a person more essentially unfit to be introduced to a lady—to a young lady especially—than Dexter. Have you heard of his horrible deformity?”
“I have heard of it—and it doesn’t daunt me.”
“Doesn’t daunt you? My dear lady, the man’s mind is as deformed as his body. What Voltaire said satirically of the character of his countrymen in general is literally true of Miserrimus Dexter. He is a mixture of the tiger and the monkey. At one moment he would frighten you, and at the next he would set you screaming with laughter. I don’t deny that he is clever in some respects—brilliantly clever, I admit. And I don’t say that he has ever committed any acts of violence, or ever willingly injured anybody. But, for all that, he is mad, if ever a man were mad yet. Forgive me if the inquiry is impertinent. What can your motive possibly be for wanting an introduction to Miserrimus Dexter?”
“I want to consult him?”
“May I ask on what subject?”
“On the subject of my husband’s Trial.”
Major Fitz-David groaned, and sought a momentary consolation in his friend Benjamin’s claret.
“That dreadful subject again!” he exclaimed. “Mr. Benjamin, why does she persist in dwelling on that dreadful subject?”
“I must dwell on what is now the one employment and the one hope of my life,” I said. “I have reason to hope that Miserrimus Dexter can help me to clear my husband’s character of the stain which the Scotch Verdict has left on it. Tiger and monkey as he may be, I am ready to run the risk of being introduced to him. And I ask you again—rashly and obstinately as I fear you will think—to give me the introduction. It will put you to no inconvenience. I won’t trouble you to escort me; a letter to Mr. Dexter will do.”
The Major looked piteously at Benjamin, and shook his head. Benjamin looked piteously at the Major, and shook his head.