“I’m afraid,” he said, hesitatingly, and blushing more than ever. “I’m afraid I’ve been a bit inattentive to you, Mary.”
As Mary had never had to complain of his want of attention she very wisely replied,—
“Not at all, John.”
“But I ’ave,” he insisted, “and you’re lookin’ pale like. Let’s git our tea over an’ go to a theayter.”
The surprise of Mrs. Stubbs blossomed into a wild and astounded amazement. She looked straight at Mr. Stubbs to see whether he was in earnest, and coming to the conclusion that sincerity was defined there, she deliberately went up to her husband and kissed him. He submitted to the infliction with a good grace, though still blushing consumedly. The play was to Mrs. Stubbs the height of earthly bliss. She was a person of small intellect and simple tastes, and followed with childlike wonder the moving histories illustrated on the stage. It mattered not to her whether the play was comedy or tragedy; burlesque or melodrama. There were colour and ornament and music. These sufficed. And from the rise of the curtain till its fall she watched the proceedings open-mouthed and wondering. That her husband should not only permit her to enjoy her favourite amusement, but absolutely offer himself to accompany her to the theatre overwhelmed her, and so in the first moment of surprise she had kissed him.
His conduct all through the evening was delightful. He comported himself like a very squire of dames; purchased for her ginger-beer and oranges, and reminded her, as she coyly suggested, of the happy days of their courtship. His conduct then was but a foretaste of his conduct for many days to come. He discovered that Mary was overworked, and insisted on having a girl in to assist her in the house. Every moment, when not employed in his small shop—it was little better than a stall—he spent in his house, usually appearing with a votive offering in the shape of a lobster or a basket of mushrooms, or even a box of chocolate creams. Except on “meeting evenings,” he never now entered the “Six Bells,” but spent the precious hours at home like a devoted husband, smoking his pipe, sipping gin and water, and reading for her such extracts from the daily broadsheets as contained no allusion direct or remote to Missing Heiresses.
The lawyer who had been consulted by Mr. Stubbs was like his client, a Member of the Republican Circle. Also, like his client, he was a Socialist and Freethinker; and his name was Chatham. From the first instruction given him by Mr Stubbs, he expressed the greatest confidence in the claim of his wife, and prosecuted his inquiries with the utmost zeal and goodwill. Mr. Stubbs had at the time of his important discovery a hundred pounds in the bank. The most of this money soon found its way into the office of Mr. Chatham. Inquiries of the kind cost something. There are so many journeys to be made, so many witnesses to be interviewed; so many reams of foolscap to be crossed, all at the rate of so much per folio. But Mr. Stubbs, strong in the belief that his wife would soon be worth untold gold grudged none of it. Indeed, when it was all gone, he borrowed other sums. It was, after all, only the proverbial sprat to catch the proverbial whale. The blubber would repay him when realised. Until everything was made clear, however, he preferred to keep his wife in the dark. And the interval—it could only be a short one—he magnanimously devoted to cultivating the acquaintance of a helpmeet whom he had long neglected.
When the hundred pounds had all gone, and when the obliging persons who had lent him sums of money to “go on with,” became clamorous for repayment, he had his moments of depression. He was, however, sustained by the assurance of his lawyer, and consoled by the unremitting attention of his wife. At times when the fit of melancholy was particularly bad, he would break into some exclamation such as in less happy days he had used to Mrs. Stubbs. But he immediately checked himself, and called her his “angel,” and his “guiding star.” And she, poor woman, accepted the amendment, soothed and comforted her ruffled consort, and expressed a belief that his monetary troubles would soon be over.
Her prophecy was verified. His monetary troubles were soon over. Once again Mrs. Stubbs was expecting her husband’s return to tea. But there was no confusion now. The table was laid, the kettle boiling, the bread and butter cut, and the shrimps and water-cresses gracing the festive board. The master of the house was late. But he would soon return, no doubt bearing a peace-offering—now invariably delivered to his spouse when he failed to be punctual. She was thus reflecting when the door burst suddenly open, and John Stubbs entered with his hat on his head. His face was pale, his eyes seemed to start from his head. He approached the table, struck it with his closed fist and—I regret to have to record it—called his wife “a she devil.” It was one of the dear old words of an earlier and more tempestuous period. She bore it in silence. But when he yelled,—
“She’s found, you swindler! D’ye hear, y’imposter, the real Heiress is found, ye deceitful hussy,” she was puzzled beyond measure.