PEDGIFT'S POSTSCRIPT.
"I mentioned that a point had occurred to me, sir," remarked
Pedgift Senior.
"You did," said Allan.
"Would you like to hear what it is, Mr. Armadale?"
"If you please," said Allan.
"With all my heart, sir! This is the point. I attach considerable
importance--if nothing else can be done--to having Miss Gwilt
privately looked after, as long as she stops at Thorpe Ambrose.
It struck me just now at the door, Mr. Armadale, that what you
are not willing to do for your own security, you might be willing
to do for the security of another person."
"What other person?" inquired Allan.
"A young lady who is a near neighbor of yours, sir. Shall I
mention the name in confidence? Miss Milroy."
Allan started, and changed color.
"Miss Milroy!" he repeated. "Can _she_ be concerned in this
miserable business? I hope not, Mr. Pedgift; I sincerely hope
not."
"I paid a visit, in your interests, sir, at the cottage this
morning," proceeded Pedgift Senior. "You shall hear what happened
there, and judge for yourself. Major Milroy has been expressing
his opinion of you pretty freely; and I thought it highly
desirable to give him a caution. It's always the way with those
quiet addle-headed men: when they do once wake up, there's no
reasoning with their obstinacy, and no quieting their violence.
Well, sir, this morning I went to the cottage. The major and Miss
Neelie were both in the parlor--miss not looking so pretty as
usual; pale, I thought, pale, and worn, and anxious. Up jumps the
addle-headed major (I wouldn't give _that_, Mr. Armadale, for
the brains of a man who can occupy himself for half his lifetime
n making a clock!)--up jumps the addle-headed major, in the
loftiest manner, and actually tries to look me down. Ha! ha! the
idea of anybody looking _me_ down, at my time of life. I behaved
like a Christian; I nodded kindly to old What's-o'clock 'Fine
morning, major,' says I. 'Have you any business with me?' says
he. 'Just a word,' says I. Miss Neelie, like the sensible girl
she is, gets up to leave the room; and what does her ridiculous
father do? He stops her. 'You needn't go, my dear, I have nothing
to say to Mr. Pedgift,' says this old military idiot, and turns
my way, and tries to look me down again. 'You are Mr. Armadale's
lawyer,' says he; 'if you come on any business relating to Mr.
Armadale, I refer you to my solicitor.' (His solicitor is Darch;
and Darch has had enough of _me_ in business, I can tell you!)
'My errand here, major, does certainly relate to Mr. Armadale,'
says I; 'but it doesn't concern your lawyer--at any rate, just
yet. I wish to caution you to suspend your opinion of my client,
or, if you won't do that, to be careful how you express it in
public. I warn you that our turn is to come, and that you are not
at the end yet of this scandal about Miss Gwilt.' It struck me
as likely that he would lose his temper when he found himself
tackled in that way, and he amply fulfilled my expectations.
He was quite violent in his language--the poor weak
creature--actually violent with _me_! I behaved like a Christian
again; I nodded kindly, and wished him good-morning. When I
looked round to wish Miss Neelie good-morning, too, she was gone.
You seem restless, Mr. Armadale," remarked Pedgift Senior, as
Allan, feeling the sting of old recollections, suddenly started
out of his chair, and began pacing up and down the room. "I won't
try your patience much longer, sir; I am coming to the point."
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Pedgift," said Allan, returning to his
seat, and trying to look composedly at the lawyer through the
intervening image of Neelie which the lawyer had called up.
"Well, sir, I left the cottage," resumed Pedgift Senior. "Just
as I turned the corner from the garden into the park, whom should
I stumble on but Miss Neelie herself, evidently on the lookout
for me. 'I want to speak to you for one moment, Mr. Pedgift!'
says she. 'Does Mr. Armadale think _me_ mixed up in this matter?'
She was violently agitated--tears in her eyes, sir, of the sort
which my legal experience has _not_ accustomed me to see. I quite
forgot myself; I actually gave her my arm, and led her away
gently among the trees. (A nice position to find me in, if any
of the scandal-mongers of the town had happened to be walking
in that direction!) 'My dear Miss Milroy,' says I, 'why should
Mr. Armadale think _you_ mixed up in it?' "
"You ought to have told her at once that I thought nothing of
the kind!" exclaimed Allan, indignantly. "Why did you leave her
a moment in doubt about it?"
"Because I am a lawyer, Mr. Armadale," rejoined Pedgift Senior,
dryly. "Even in moments of sentiment, under convenient trees,
with a pretty girl on my arm, I can't entirely divest myself of
my professional caution. Don't look distressed, sir, pray! I set
things right in due course of time. Before I left Miss Milroy,
I told her, in the plainest terms, no such idea had ever entered
your head."
"Did she seem relieved?" asked Allan.
"She was able to dispense with the use of my arm, sir," replied
old Pedgift, as dryly as ever, "and to pledge me to inviolable
secrecy on the subject of our interview. She was particularly
desirous that _you_ should hear nothing about it. If you are
at all anxious on your side to know why I am now betraying her
confidence, I beg to inform you that her confidence related to
no less a person than the lady who favored you with a call just
now--Miss Gwilt."
Allan, who had been once more restlessly pacing the room,
stopped, and returned to his chair.
"Is this serious?" he asked.
"Most serious, sir," returned Pedgift Senior. "I am betraying
Miss Neelie's secret, in Miss Neelie's own interest. Let us go
back to that cautious question I put to her. She found some
little difficulty in answering it, for the reply involved her in
a narrative of the parting interview between her governess and
herself. This is the substance of it. The two were alone when
Miss Gwilt took leave of her pupil; and the words she used (as
reported to me by Miss Neelie) were these. She said, 'Your mother
has declined to allow me to take leave of her. Do you decline
too?' Miss Neelie's answer was a remarkably sensible one for a
girl of her age. 'We have not been good friends,' she said, 'and
I believe we are equally glad to part with each other. But I have
no wish to decline taking leave of you.' Saying that, she held
out her hand. Miss Gwilt stood looking at her steadily, without
taking it, and addressed her in these words: '_You are not Mrs.
Armadale yet_.' Gently, sir! Keep your temper. It's not at all
wonderful that a woman, conscious of having her own mercenary
designs on you, should attribute similar designs to a young lady
who happens to be your near neighbor. Let me go on. Miss Neelie,
by her own confession (and quite naturally, I think), was
excessively indignant. She owns to having answered, 'You
shameless creature, how dare you say that to me!' Miss Gwilt's
rejoinder was rather a remarkable one--the anger, on her side,
appears to have been of the cool, still, venomous kind. 'Nobody
ever yet injured me, Miss Milroy,' she said, 'without sooner or
later bitterly repenting it. _You_ will bitterly repent it.' She
stood looking at her pupil for a moment in dead silence, and then
left the room. Miss Neelie appears to have felt the imputation
fastened on her, in connection with you, far more sensitively
than she felt the threat. She had previously known, as everybody
had known in the house, that some unacknowledged proceedings of
yours in London had led to Miss Gwilt's voluntary withdrawal from
her situation. And she now inferred, from the language addressed
to her, that she was actually believed by Miss Gwilt to have set
those proceedings on foot, to advance herself, and to injure her
governess, in your estimation. Gently, sir, gently! I haven't
quite done yet. As soon as Miss Neelie had recovered herself, she
went upstairs to speak to Mrs. Milroy. Miss Gwilt's abominable
imputation had taken her by surprise; and she went to her mother
first for enlightenment and advice. She got neither the one nor
the other. Mrs. Milroy declared she was too ill to enter on the
subject, and she has remained too ill to enter on it ever since.
Miss Neelie applied next to her father. The major stopped her the
moment your name passed her lips: he declared he would never hear
you mentioned again by any member of his family. She has been
left in the dark from that time to this, not knowing how she
might have been misrepresented by Miss Gwilt, or what falsehoods
you might have been led to believe of her. At my age and in my
profession, I don't profess to have any extraordinary softness of
heart. But I do think, Mr. Armadale, that Miss Neelie's position
deserves our sympathy."
"I'll do anything to help her!" cried Allan, impulsively.
"You don't know, Mr. Pedgift, what reason I have--" He checked
himself, and confusedly repeated his first words. "I'll do
anything," he reiterated earnestly--"anything in the world
to help her!"
"Do you really mean that, Mr. Armadale? Excuse my asking; but
you can very materially help Miss Neelie, if you choose!"
"How?" asked Allan. "Only tell me how!"
"By giving me your authority, sir, to protect her from Miss
Gwilt."
Having fired that shot pointblank at his client, the wise lawyer
waited a little to let it take its effect before he said any
more.
Allan's face clouded, and he shifted uneasily from side to side
of his chair.
"Your son is hard enough to deal with, Mr. Pedgift," he said,
"and you are harder than your son."
"Thank you, sir," rejoined the ready Pedgift, "in my son's name
and my own, for a handsome compliment to the firm. If you really
wish to be of assistance to Miss Neelie," he went on, more
seriously, "I have shown you the way. You can do nothing to quiet
her anxiety which I have not done already. As soon as I had
assured her that no misconception of her conduct existed in your
mind, she went away satisfied. Her governess's parting threat
doesn't seem to have dwelt on her memory. I can tell you, Mr.
Armadale, it dwells on mine! You know my opinion of Miss Gwilt;
and you know what Miss Gwilt herself has done this very evening
to justify that opinion even in your eyes. May I ask, after all
that has passed, whether you think she is the sort of woman who
can be trusted to confine herself to empty threats?"
The question was a formidable one to answer. Forced steadily
back from the position which he had occupied at the outset
of the interview, by the irresistible pressure of plain facts,
Allan began for the first time to show symptoms of yielding on
the subject of Miss Gwilt. "Is there no other way of protecting
Miss Milroy but the way you have mentioned?" he asked, uneasily.
"Do you think the major would listen to you, sir, if you spoke
to him?" asked Pedgift Senior, sarcastically. "I'm rather afraid
he wouldn't honor _me_ with his attention. Or perhaps you would
prefer alarming Miss Neelie by telling her in plain words that we
both think her in danger? Or, suppose you send me to Miss Gwilt,
with instructions to inform her that she has done her pupil
a cruel injustice? Women are so proverbially ready to listen
to reason; and they are so universally disposed to alter their
opinions of each other on application--especially when one woman
thinks that another woman has destroyed her prospect of making a
good marriage. Don't mind _me_, Mr. Armadale; I'm only a lawyer,
and I can sit waterproof under another shower of Miss Gwilt's
tears!"
"Damn it, Mr. Pedgift, tell me in plain words what you want
to do!" cried Allan, losing his temper at last.
"In plain words, Mr. Armadale, I want to keep Miss Gwilt's
proceedings privately under view, as long as she stops in this
neighborhood. I answer for finding a person who will look after
her delicately and discreetly. And I agree to discontinue even
this harmless superintendence of her actions, if there isn't good
reasons shown for continuing it, to your entire satisfaction,
in a week's time. I make that moderate proposal, sir, in what
I sincerely believe to be Miss Milroy's interest, and I wait
your answer, Yes or No."
"Can't I have time to consider?" asked Allan, driven to the last
helpless expedient of taking refuge in delay.
"Certainly, Mr. Armadale. But don't forget, while you are
considering, that Miss Milroy is in the habit of walking out
alone in your park, innocent of all apprehension of danger,
and that Miss Gwilt is perfectly free to take any advantage
of that circumstance that Miss Gwilt pleases."
"Do as you like!" exclaimed Allan, in despair. "And, for God's
sake, don't torment me any longer!"
Popular prejudice may deny it, but the profession of the law
is a practically Christian profession in one respect at least.
Of all the large collection of ready answers lying in wait for
mankind on a lawyer's lips, none is kept in better working order
than "the soft answer which turneth away wrath." Pedgift Senior
rose with the alacrity of youth in his legs, and the wise
moderation of age on his tongue. "Many thanks, sir," he said,
"for the attention you have bestowed on me. I congratulate you
on your decision, and I wish you good-evening." This time his
indicative snuff-box was not in his hand when he opened the door,
and he actually disappeared without coming back for a second
postscript.
Allan's head sank on his breast when he was left alone. "If it
was only the end of the week!" he thought, longingly. "If I only
had Midwinter back again!"
As that aspiration escaped the client's lips, the lawyer got
gayly into his gig. "Hie away, old girl!" cried Pedgift Senior,
patting the fast-trotting mare with the end of his whip. "I never
keep a lady waiting--and I've got business to-night with one of
your own sex!"