CHAPTER XII

throughthelanes.” “AsprigofMayinherbonnet,”Mrs.Coshamejaculated,reminiscently. “AndnextSundayhehadvioletsinhisbuttonhole.Andthatwashowweguessed.” Katharinelaughed.ShelookedatRalph.Hiseyesweremeditative,andshewonderedwhathefoundinthisoldgossiptomakehimpondersocontentedly.Shefelt,shehardlyknewwhy,acuriouspityforhim. “UncleJohn—yes,‘poorJohn,’youalwayscalledhim.Whywasthat?”sheasked,tomakethemgoontalking,which,indeed,theyneededlittleinvitationtodo. “Thatwaswhathisfather,oldSirRichard,alwayscalledhim.PoorJohn,orthefoolofthefamily,”Mrs.Milvainhastenedtoinformthem.“Theotherboysweresobrilliant,andhecouldneverpasshisexaminations,sotheysenthimtoIndia—alongvoyageinthosedays,poorfellow.Youhadyourownroom,youknow,andyoudiditup.Buthewillgethisknighthoodandapension,Ibelieve,”shesaid,turningtoRalph,“onlyitisnotEngland.” “No,”Mrs.Coshamconfirmedher,“itisnotEngland.InthosedayswethoughtanIndianJudgeshipaboutequaltoacounty-courtjudgeshipathome.HisHonor—aprettytitle,butstill,notatthetopofthetree.However,”shesighed,“ifyouhaveawifeandsevenchildren,andpeoplenowadaysveryquicklyforgetyourfather’sname—well,youhavetotakewhatyoucanget,”sheconcluded. “AndIfancy,”Mrs.Milvainresumed,loweringhervoiceratherconfidentially,“thatJohnwouldhavedonemoreifithadn’tbeenforhiswife,yourAuntEmily.Shewasaverygoodwoman,devotedtohim,ofcourse,butshewasnotambitiousforhim,andifawifeisn’tambitiousforherhusband,especiallyinaprofessionlikethelaw,clientssoongettoknowofit.Inouryoungdays,Mr.Denham,weusedtosaythatweknewwhichofourfriendswouldbecomejudges,bylookingatthegirlstheymarried.Andsoitwas,andso,Ifancy,italwayswillbe.Idon’tthink,”sheadded,summingupthesescatteredremarks,“thatanymanisreallyhappyunlesshesucceedsinhisprofession.” Mrs.Coshamapprovedofthissentimentwithmoreponderoussagacityfromhersideofthetea-table,inthefirstplacebyswayingherhead,andinthesecondbyremarking: “No,menarenotthesameaswomen.IfancyAlfredTennysonspokethetruthaboutthatasaboutmanyotherthings.HowIwishhe’dlivedtowrite‘ThePrince’—asequelto‘ThePrincess’!IconfessI’malmosttiredofPrincesses.Wewantsomeonetoshowuswhatagoodmancanbe.WehaveLauraandBeatrice,AntigoneandCordelia,butwehavenoheroicman.Howdoyou,asapoet,accountforthat,Mr.Denham?” “I’mnotapoet,”saidRalphgood-humoredly.“I’monlyasolicitor.” “Butyouwrite,too?”Mrs.Coshamdemanded,afraidlestsheshouldbebalkedofherpricelessdiscovery,ayoungmantrulydevotedtoliterature. “Inmysparetime,”Denhamreassuredher. “Inyoursparetime!”Mrs.Coshamechoed.“Thatisaproofofdevotion,indeed.”Shehalfclosedhereyes,andindulgedherselfinafascinatingpictureofabrieflessbarristerlodgedinagarret,writingimmortalnovelsbythelightofafarthingdip.Buttheromancewhichfelluponthefiguresofgreatwritersandilluminedtheirpageswasnofalseradianceinhercase.ShecarriedherpocketShakespeareaboutwithher,andmetlifefortifiedbythewordsofthepoets.HowfarshesawDenham,andhowfarsheconfusedhimwithsomeherooffiction,itwouldbehardtosay.Literaturehadtakenpossessionevenofhermemories.Shewasmatchinghim,presumably,withcertaincharactersintheoldnovels,forshecameout,afterapause,with: “Um—um—Pendennis—Warrington—IcouldneverforgiveLaura,”shepronouncedenergetically,“fornotmarryingGeorge,inspiteofeverything.GeorgeEliotdidtheverysamethingandLeweswasalittlefrog-facedman,withthemannerofadancingmaster.ButWarrington,now,hadeverythinginhisfavorintellect,passion,romance,distinction,andtheconnectionwasamerepieceofundergraduatefolly.Arthur,Iconfess,hasalwaysseemedtomeabitofafopIcan’timaginehowLauramarriedhim.Butyousayyou’reasolicitor,Mr.Denham.NowthereareoneortwothingsIshouldliketoaskyou—aboutShakespeare—”Shedrewouthersmall,wornvolumewithsomedifficulty,openedit,andshookitintheair.“Theysay,nowadays,thatShakespearewasalawyer.Theysay,thataccountsforhisknowledgeofhumannature.There’safineexampleforyou,Mr.Denham.Studyyourclients,youngman,andtheworldwillbethericheroneofthesedays,Ihavenodoubt.Tellme,howdowecomeoutofit,nowbetterorworsethanyouexpected?” Thuscalledupontosumuptheworthofhumannatureinafewwords,Ralphansweredunhesitatingly: “Worse,Mrs.Cosham,agooddealworse.I’mafraidtheordinarymanisabitofarascal—” “Andtheordinarywoman?” “No,Idon’tliketheordinarywomaneither—” “Ah,dearme,I’venodoubtthat’sverytrue,verytrue.”Mrs.Coshamsighed.“Swiftwouldhaveagreedwithyou,anyhow—”Shelookedathim,andthoughtthatthereweresignsofdistinctpowerinhisbrow.Hewoulddowell,shethought,todevotehimselftosatire. “CharlesLavington,youremember,wasasolicitor,”Mrs.Milv