The novelist looked into his glass. “It’s a good subject though. A deuced good subject. I might call it, let me see—I might call it Bagatelles, yes, Bagatelles or One of the Ten Commandments.
“Why not several of them while you are about it?”
“Several of the Ten Commandments? Why, that would be a tip-top title. Take in all classes of readers. Dear boy, if you don’t object I think I will.”
Nevius jumped from his seat.
“If you say one word,” he cried hotly, “one word that a microscopist could detect as referring to my wife, by the Lord Harry I’ll put daylight through you.”
“Dear me!” mumbled Jones, “how was I to suppose that you were in love with her still?”
At that you should have heard Nevius bluster. How he ranted, how he raved! In love with her? The idea! No indeed, not he. And when at last for sheer lack of breath he stopped, of the entire diatribe Jones believed actually not one word.
But, false friend that he was, he nodded as though he did.
“That’s right, that’s the way to talk, that’s the way you must talk to O’Donnell. We went over the whole matter today. He’ll be here now at any moment.”
And, vatic as usual, Mr. Jabez O’Donnell, a member of the bar, still young, yet already famous, a man with the face of a cherub and the guile of a fox, was promptly announced.
“This,” said Jones, as the lawyer entered, “this, my dear O’Donnell, is my friend and brother in Christ, Mr. Carol Nevius. His retainer will be large, his refreshers abundant. Let me earnestly commend him to your care.”
“Devil a bit of a retainer will I take;” the gentleman answered with great cordiality and a little brogue, “I am out for gore, not for coin.”
“Bravely said,” cried Jones, glass in hand, toasting the occasion, toasting everything, toasting illicit commerce. “You are pleased to meet Nevius, I know; and as for him, he radiates with delight.”
And at the way Nevius smiled, anyone might have thought that really he was enjoying himself. Yet, how curious it was that this moment the smile visited his lips, a verse of Byron’s fluttered there too:
“And if I laugh at any mortal thing
’Tis that I may not weep: and if I weep
’Tis that our nature can not always bring
Itself to apathy.”
“Poseur!” sneered Jones, in an indignant aside.
Mr. O’Donnell seemed to appreciate, “I understand you, Mr. Nevius. I understand perfectly. It is a dreadful thing to have one’s name in the papers.”
“And still more dreadful not to.”
This interruption came, of course, from the novelist. No one paid any attention to him. The lawyer continued:
“The outrage in this instance is heightened by the fact that there need have been no publicity at all. Professional etiquette, if nothing else, should have prevented Tooth and Tooth from serving you by publication. They tell me that they did not know you were a member of the bar, and as their acquaintance is limited to those who practice in the General Sessions, that is a thing which I can believe. They also tell me that Mrs. Nevius represented that you would not return to this country. They pretend to be vexed at the mistake, but I have reasons for thinking that they regard the whole business as an excellent advertisement. Now permit me to ask a question. What sort of a man is your father-in-law? They seemed to have been employed by him before. One would hardly think such a thing possible, but is he at all of their class of life?”
“Between the man who pays to have a young girl defamed and the men who take the money and do the job,” Nevius promptly and grimly replied, “honors are easy.”
“That they are, Mr. Nevius, that goes without saying. But if I ask, it is because from what Tooth and Tooth tell me he is not so dogmatic as he was before you returned. It appears that the night you landed he nearly gave up the ghost.”
“He could have had no interest in doing so, however.”
“No, precisely not, and perhaps for that reason he didn’t. But understand me; Jones says that the plaintiff is not to be argued with, and is determined to push the thing to the end. If such be the case, there is no use losing time with her. But if her father were properly approached, might not something be done?”
“Beyond asking him to play pendulum I see nothing.”
The lawyer laughed. “He hasn’t inspired you with much regard, has he?”
“Yes,” Nevius answered. “Yes, to such an extent even that I have put him in my will. Mr. Snaith is a member of the Society for the Protection of Animals, and in recognition of his affection for beasts, I have left him a mirror.”
Jones, rolled over in spasms of delight. “Oh! Carol! how I wish I had said that!”
In unconscious rememoration of the famous retort which in similar circumstances was fired point-blank at another man of letters, Nevius turned to him and consolingly answered; “There, never mind, Alphabet. You will.”
Then with a deprecatory glance at the lawyer, who was laughing still, he prepared to return to facts.
“Forgive me, Mr. O’Donnell. My levity is out of place, in poor taste as well. This is tragedy, not farce. You will believe me when I say that nothing is further from my mind than a desire to jest.”
“I follow you there. I know quite how you feel. Years ago a man called on a
