CHAPTER II.

_THE LAWYER GAINS HIS POINT._

With lips depressed as he were meek, Himself unto himself he sold: Upon himself himself did feed-- Quiet, dispassionate and cold.

Mr. Robinson in the mean time had not been idle. He could certainly never have presented so unsullied a front before the world if he had ever been idle where his own interests were concerned. During those weeks, while L'Estrange and Margaret's child had been wandering--while Arthur had been throwing himself into the task of unravelling the mystery that surrounded Maurice Grey and his desertion--while Margaret, sick at heart, had been waiting and watching--he had been putting all his energy into the task of winding up her affairs in such a way as to make it appear that in their management he had been guilty of nothing but a little pardonable imprudence. He had been obliged to sacrifice some of his own interests in the process, but this was a matter of very small moment.

Mr. Robinson was careful, even as regarded trivial sums, but he was too clever a man of the world not to know the impolicy of the "penny-wise, pound-foolish system." A small sacrifice that would have the effect of impressing the world with his upright character would, he knew, bring in returns fully commensurate to the outlay. He did not, therefore, hesitate to pay up, out of his own pocket, as he magnanimously put it to some highly-impressionable lady clients, that amount of Mrs. Grey's capital which had been lent on insufficient security to the bankrupt trader; but (and this he did not tell the ladies) for the whole transaction he made both sides pay heavily. The man of business was kept under the lawyer's thumb for further use, and Mrs. Grey, out of the capital sum, had to pay not only the expenses, which were heavy, but also certain sundries, including various advances of twenty pounds at a time for maintenance, setting on foot of a search for Mr. Grey and his daughter, letters innumerable, railway journeys and interviews. Mrs. Grey had even the pleasure of defraying the expenses of a trip to Paris taken by her lawyer at the moderate charge of five guineas a day, for the purpose of personally investigating the city with a view to the recovery of Mrs. Grey's daughter. That she had not been met with, either in the Bois de Boulogne or on the Boulevards, was not Mr. Robinson's fault. He carefully frequented both. "Honesty is the best policy." One of the ladies to whom Mr. Robinson mentioned this matter quite incidentally (it illustrated aptly some of her own affairs) put his name down instantly in her will for one thousand pounds; another reported the story to a lately-widowed friend, who at once appointed this upright man her solicitor and confidential adviser. Mr. Robinson held his head higher, and at the next cottage-meeting he attended gave out for the text, "Godliness hath the promise of this life and of that which is to come"--a fact, he proceeded to say, which was strangely borne out by his own late experiences. But this was incidental, a providential side-wind. The real object of his attention at this time was to get rid altogether of Mrs. Grey's affairs, which, as she had the power in her hands of appointing another trustee, he knew it was possible to do. He was anxious, therefore, to press the matter forward, that he might gain her signature acknowledging full satisfaction with his proceedings before any sharper eyes than hers could look into the business and so a contrary advice be given.

It was to accomplish this purpose that Mr. Robinson had planned an interview for the day succeeding that on which Arthur's letter had been received. That morning Margaret was better. The first paroxysm of disappointment had passed. Adele's words of gentle wisdom had made her almost ashamed of her own impatience. Better than all, perhaps, it was a fine, clear October day. The sun was shining; the bare trees, waving gracefully in the breeze, wrote their delicate tracery against the clear blue sky, the sea had fallen to partial rest. Margaret's excitement had exhausted her. She slept late. When she awoke the sun was high in the heavens. Adele had long left her side, but before she could look round inquiringly the young girl had opened the door gently and was creeping in to see if her friend were awake.

"Come in, Adele," said Margaret. "Why, it must be late. How is it that you allowed me to sleep so long?"

"I knew it would do you good, and I was right; you look better already. Now, what do you intend to do? Mr. Robinson, you know, is to be here. Do you feel able to see him, or shall I do it for you?"

"No, no, Adele. You are spoiling me. I must exert myself."

But in spite of her brave words Margaret felt very weak. It was only with old Martha's assistance that she could manage to make herself at all presentable.

The old woman shook her head once or twice as the task of dressing proceeded. "It was pitiable," as she afterward remarked to Jane, "to see a body fallen away like that. Bless the poor soul!" she continued, wiping her eyes, "if they don't find and bring back her folks pretty soon, it's precious little of her'll be left, what with fretting and one thing and another."

In these days Margaret would always be dressed with care. She had a kind of feeling that her husband might return suddenly, and she wished him to see her at her best. She had left off the black which she had worn during her widowhood, and had returned to the pretty morning-dresses, the soft flowing draperies that in the old days Maurice had loved.

On this morning Adele thought she had never seen her friend look so fair. Her dress was of gray cashmere. It fitted closely to her slight form and flowed round her in ample folds. Her hair, gathered up at the back into thick coils, rippled off in waves of shimmering gold from her brow, so that the pure outlines of her face were clearly marked. It was held back by a broad band of blue ribbon, over which fell lappets of choice lace. Her face seemed perfectly transparent, it was so delicately fair; and the absence of color, the brightness fever had given to her eyes, the general fragility of her appearance, made her look many years younger than she really was.

When the tedious business of dressing was over she went into the little sitting-room, and standing with her hands resting on the back of a chair for support, looked earnestly into the mirror that hung over the fireplace.

"Adele," she said, "I am changed. There are lines in my face, there are dark shadows under my eyes. I am a poor, pale, colorless thing. If he were to come back now, what would he say?"

"That you are more beautiful than ever," replied the young girl impulsively, looking at her friend with the enthusiastic admiration that belonged to her susceptible nature and her eighteen years. "Margaret, how can you say such things?"

But Margaret did not answer. She still looked meditatively at the mirror: "_If_ he cannot love me, _if_ he have not loved me for these long years, I would almost rather he did not come at all. It would be dreadful to meet his indifference. Adele, duty might bring him."

"And if it did, Margaret, something else would keep him."

"But it is such a long time! He may have forgotten. He may have--" "formed other ties," she was about to add, but she checked herself suddenly. "I am talking nonsense," she said hastily, "I must find something to do."

She got her work. It was a child's frock, of the same delicate material and color as that she wore.

"Maurice's favorite color," she said. "I want to have it ready for Laura when she comes back. It will go well with her golden curls, and she wants something new. Dear little one! I wonder has she forgotten me? I scarcely think so."

Adele walked to the window to hide her tears. In the vague uncertainty, in the view of possible disappointment, there was something more pathetic in this mood of Margaret's than in that of the preceding night. She was just in time to meet Mr. Robinson's cold eyes. He had found the garden-gate open, and was walking up the narrow grass-bordered path.

One of the windows of the parlor where they were sitting opened on to the garden; the lawyer bowed politely when he saw the young lady, and with his usual obtuseness cut short the ceremony of ringing and gaining admittance in the usual way, by crossing the greensward and tapping in his peculiarly lively manner at the window.

Adele turned round suddenly to prepare her friend for this summary entrance and to recover her own inclination for tears. Margaret's face reassured her. For the first time since Arthur had gone and the fever of hope-deferred had taken possession of her, Margaret looked really happy; her fingers, almost transparent, were flying backward and forward with the busy needle; she was looking down upon her work, which began to assume the appearance of a child's frock, with a smile. In her whole attitude there was rest.

The woman's work had taken its effect upon her mind. To be working for her lost darling made her recovery and return seem real and near to her. It brought back the quiet days when the child had been her one comfort and joy.

"Mr. Robinson is here," said Adele, crossing the room. Margaret looked up, and met a frank smile from the outside of the still closed window. She rose, threw up the sash, and the lawyer entered, hat in hand.

"Good-morning, ladies," he said cordially. "I was beginning to fear, from the stern appearance of our young friend here, that I was to be left out in the cold. Ha! ha! not a pleasant position on a frosty day. Mrs. Grey, you look thin; not fretting, I hope, though indeed I can scarcely wonder. The absurd way in which your affairs are being conducted is really enough to worry you."

At this point Adele looked indignant and Margaret tried to protest. But the lawyer waved his hand: "One moment, Mrs. Grey; I wish to make no reflections. As I stated before, in my interview with Mr. Forrest (he took up no less than two hours of my time on a very busy day; this is the sole grudge I bear him);" the lawyer showed his teeth--"as I stated before, Mrs. Grey, I wash my hands altogether of this part of the business. I did my best; my poor services were rejected wholesale, I may say. As a Christian I forgive; yes indeed, what I have come to tell you of my after-conduct will prove that I bear no malice. But it hit me hard--hit me hard."

He touched the region of the body where the centre of feeling is always supposed to reside, and looked sentimental.

"Pray sit down, Mr. Robinson. I am sorry your feelings were hurt in any way," said Margaret with gentle dignity; "and I know quite well that my kind friend, Mr. Forrest, is apt to be a little impulsive. Let me assure you that I am not ungrateful for the various services you have rendered me." Poor Margaret! she was thinking, with a kind of compunction, about that interview in London and the sundry advances for maintenance which had been a great boon to her at the time. "His heart is kind," she said to herself; "we may have judged him harshly." Then to him: "I must honestly confess that I was inclined to blame you for lukewarmness in the last matter I confided to you: I mean the search for my husband and child."

"Lukewarmness, Mrs. Grey!" Mr. Robinson lifted his hands in a kind of holy horror; and surely it was a superabundance of honesty that shone out from his eyes. "You really astonish me. In fact I am at a loss to understand you at all. Let me pass the facts of the case in review"--his voice grew stern--"perhaps then the blame will rest upon the right shoulders. If I remember rightly--Be so good as to correct any misstatements; I like to be accurate, but naturally my mind is so full of other matters. Well, as I was saying, you consulted me--in this very room, I think. I promised to do my best, letting you know results. Thereupon you placed in my care certain trinkets. I took them simply because I thought them safer in my strong box than here with you in this lonely place. As to making any use of them, why, Mrs. Grey, facts prove the contrary. Mr. Forrest had only to demand them on your part. Without hesitation I restored them intact. To proceed: as soon as I return (remember, I have not the faintest clue), I consult a detective, put him, as far as possible, on the track, and, further, demand an interview with Mr. Grey's solicitor--perfectly unsatisfactory, professes to know nothing. I take various other measures--needless to enter into detail. The principles of what one may call the private-inquiry business are not easy to explain, especially to ladies. I think I obtain a clue, but is it for me to torture you with half revelations? I wait for a little more certainty, and in the interval in dashes Mr. Forrest, states that you have given over these matters into his hands, that your confidence is shaken, that affairs would be strictly looked into."

Here Mr. Robinson made a dramatic pause and looked sternly at his repentant client. "Mrs. Grey," he continued, "do you know what was my impulse at that moment? Your affairs, as you are well aware, are--or I should say _were_--in a complicated condition. I felt inclined to take no more trouble, to let your new friends have the burden and responsibility; but"--he lifted his eyes sanctimoniously to the ceiling--"I do nothing upon impulse. Further consideration showed me that to act in so hasty a manner would be unworthy of myself, inconsistent with my character as a Christian man. I _wish_ to 'adorn my profession in all things.' Whether in this I am successful or no is not for me to say."

Through all her penitence Margaret was growing impatient of this long harangue, and Adele's face showed that she, at least, would not hear it much longer.

Mrs. Grey broke the little interlude short: "And pray, Mr. Robinson, what did you do?"

"Set to work immediately to disentangle your affairs. But, mind you, a man may go to a _certain_ length; self-respect forbids him to go further. What I said to myself was this: I am distrusted, I must resign my position."

Margaret was about to interrupt him.

"Allow me. Before you answer, I must give my reasons, both from my side of the question and from yours, for the advisability of the step which I may say is irrevocably determined in my own mind. We shall take the reasons from your point of view first. Mr. Forrest has your full confidence. You acknowledge so far as this?" Margaret bowed. "You took measures with him totally unknown to me--a breach of confidence--but this I should have been content to waive. Ladies are naturally impulsive. To proceed with our reasons. Mr. Forrest distrusts and dislikes me--impossible to say why. He is a worldling. It may be that a few words of warning and exhortation which I felt it my bounden duty to give him on the occasion of our last meeting have something to do with it. It is a matter of small import, except in so far as it concerns you. Mr. Forrest has inspired you with distrust; he will do so further; possibly your husband also, for I hear he has succeeded in finding out something through Mr. Edwards. But of this you doubtless know more than I. Under such circumstances it will be far wiser for you to allow me at once to give up the management of your affairs. My reasons for desiring it are many of them personal. I will not enter into them, as I fear I have tired you already. If you like I can proceed to open out my accounts and give a rapid sketch of my proceedings, that you may sign this document with your eyes open. Your friend looks dissatisfied; I know ladies often object to signing. Let me reassure her: this is nothing but a deed of release, to pave the way for transfer papers which are now being prepared."

"You are quite right to withdraw, Mr. Robinson," replied Margaret with dignity, "if you feel as you do, but in the mean time, until my husband's return--"

The lawyer looked at her curiously. Then he was only just in time. Certain news had arrived.

Margaret's face expressed nothing. "--Who," she continued, "will manage my affairs?"

"It is on this very matter that I desired to consult you."

"Would it not be better to wait?"

"For the actual conclusion of the business?--yes, if you see fit. We could even have the papers ready, leaving the names a blank, until such time as you can consult your friends. Still, I must beg you to conclude the business that has brought me here to-day. I am anxious, without delay, to pay into your account at the bank the sum which has been matter of question between us--deducting from it, of course, as was previously arranged, the few trivial sums forwarded, the expenses of search and the inevitable legal charges. Of these I have brought you a full account, and shall be much obliged by your looking over it."

Margaret sighed: "I make no doubt it is all as it should be, Mr. Robinson."

She opened it listlessly, and the long rows of figures swam before her eyes.

"I should not have ventured to bring it had it not been so, Mrs. Grey. Still, it would be satisfactory. You will observe that I have myself paid up the sum so unfortunately invested. It may be I shall be reimbursed out of the debtor's property--it may be not; this I am content to leave. You will also observe that out of the capital sum I have deducted the total of this account. All is clearly stated in this document, which I am anxious for you to sign."

Adele, while the lawyer was stating his views, had been listening and observing. At the moment when he brought his last harangue to a climax, Margaret was sitting at her writing-table. The account lay open at her side. The deed of release, fairly copied on parchment, was under her hand. She felt too utterly indifferent to all these business-matters to be able to question anything that was told her. All she desired was the cessation of this wearisome importunity. She dipped her pen in the ink. Adele saw how it was with her. Her younger, stronger spirit recoiled from the oppression. She leaned forward suddenly and drew the pen from her friend's hand:

"Margaret, take my advice--sign nothing."

Margaret smiled, and then she sighed wearily. In this matter she would have preferred taking her own way, but she gave in.

"Impulsive child!" she said, a slight tone of irritation in her voice; then, turning to the lawyer, "Perhaps, Mr. Robinson, even for form's sake it will be wiser for me to try and make out what all this means. But for the moment I feel slightly bewildered. You must allow me to think over it. You are staying at the hotel, I suppose? If you will give us the pleasure of your company to lunch we can further discuss this in the afternoon."

The lawyer rose. Margaret's invitation was a dismissal. He was obliged to submit to the delay, although it was a matter of great importance to him that the business which had brought him to Middlethorpe should be settled at once; but Adele's sharp eyes, rendered far-seeing by love and anxiety, were watching him narrowly, and he would show no sign of anxiety. "Take your own time, my dear Mrs. Grey," he replied benignantly. "You must have seen and understood all along that my special object in my business dealings with ladies is to persuade them to do everything intelligently--comprehending, that is to say, the why and the wherefore of the step they are advised to take. I find some _too_ ready. They throw themselves entirely on their lawyer's superior knowledge, increasing, of course, our responsibility, and this I deprecate. Others"--he looked across at Margaret with his charming smile--"are inclined to be too timorous. They take fright at the sight of parchment, and when asked to sign imagine they are being defrauded of some right. Your position, Mrs. Grey, is the wisest--indeed I may say the most satisfactory to one's self, for when, by repeated explanations, I have made all this perfectly clear to your mind, my position will be the more tenable. Then if in the future subject of discussion should arise--which, understand me, I do not apprehend--I shall be able to call upon you and our young friend here as witnesses to the truth of what I assert--namely, that you did everything with your eyes open."

The lawyer bowed himself out of the room. This time he had struck the right chord. To Margaret, in her state of bewilderment, the "repeated explanations" sounded like a kind of threat. Her thoughts and hopes were all engrossed, given to the one absorbing subject, and this forced attention to foreign matters was very irksome.

"If Maurice come back," she said to herself, "he will manage everything for me. If not"--and at the bare supposition all her life and energy seemed to pass, leaving her cold and spiritless--"if not, what does anything matter?"

She turned to the table. Mr. Robinson, it should be observed, had pocketed the papers. He had not thought it well, probably, that the ladies should examine them without the commentary of his instructive explanations. Mr. Robinson professed to think little of the female intellect, probably because, as a general rule, he found ladies gullible.

Not finding the papers, Margaret arose and walked to the window.

"Adele, my dear," she said after a few moments' pause, "I _must_ sign this." In her voice were the querulous tones of weakness. "That man's explanations will send me wild. Can you give me any solid reason for objecting?"

"Only, that he has no right, in the present state of affairs, to ask you to sign anything. It all sounds plausible enough, but _I_ think that if the man were really honest he would wait for this 'winding up,' as he calls it, until your husband's return."

"You see he wishes to pay over this sum, whatever it may be, at once," returned Margaret. She was inclined to take the lawyer's part. "I really think the man is honest, and certainly until just lately he has been a very kind friend to me--a friend in need."

"But why does he come in this sneaking way," persisted the young girl, "to make you write that you are satisfied with him? I may be wrong, but it seems to me that he only wants to stop your mouth and prevent accounts from being looked into by your friends."

"My dear child, are you not a _little_ unjust? Confess, now, that Arthur prejudiced you. Mr. Robinson's vulgarity is, I know, quite enough to account for your cousin's dislike, and some of the things he did had a bad appearance; still, that need not make us all put him down as dishonest."

"But, Margaret, what can be his motive?"

"How can I tell?" Again Margaret's voice sounded querulous. She said nothing more for some time, and Adele forbore to press the subject; she feared that already she had gone too far. It was Margaret who opened it again, for her mind had been working. "Allowing," she said, almost apologetically, "that this signature is unnecessary, I think I may as well oblige Mr. Robinson, if only in acknowledgment of his former kindness."

"Kindness!" The young girl shrugged her shoulders ever so slightly, but all further discussion was stopped by the return of Mr. Robinson and the appearance of lunch. During the meal the lawyer made himself, as he thought, perfectly charming, but after it was over he returned to the attack.

Margaret, as it will be seen, was predisposed in favor of what he desired; Adele had done her best to prevent it, but in vain. The wily man gained his point. Margaret signed the deed with full knowledge of its contents. Mr. Robinson was protected, and his mind was once more at rest.

It was thus with him always. His escapes were wonderful. As at this point his connection with Margaret's history ended altogether, for that cooked-up account and the transactions which led to its concoction continued to be a sealed book, it may be as well, perhaps, to let him once for all disappear from our pages. He is practicing still, and it is more than probable that the Robinson name, on whose lustre he prides himself, has never been dimmed by action of his, although among solicitors of a higher class he has the name of being a sharp practitioner. He may be known by his frank address, his manly appearance, his deep and outspoken conviction of the necessity of not living for this world alone. He has been an actor in the play so long that at last he has almost come to believe he is what he makes so loud a profession of being.

Let him go on his way rejoicing. If other and more really honest people understood, as he does, the grand art of taking care of themselves, there would be less misery in the world. It may be, however, that it would be a doubtful advantage.

The poetry of chivalry and romance has died out in a great measure from our "Merrie Land," but woe worth the day when selfishness becomes the rule, and what Mr. Robinson would term "stupid Quixoterie" the exception!