But that little lady with a waist that would fit in a garter, and who, merely in stepping from her carriage, pervaded the Nassau corner with aromas of the Rue de la Paix, she surely should be at Newport. And that obese little man with the look of one to whom Truth is always stranger than Fiction, what was he doing at her side? Surely he belonged on the box.
And who were these females in clothes not made for them who had just got from a cab? Surely they were detectives, and their duty to protect the little lady from the machinations of that unliveried lackey at her side.
And who, too, was this ponderous person that was now addressing them all. Why had he such a terrible twang? And why, as he spoke, did his words sound like wind escaping from a bladder inflated?
Mystery to all but one that passed that way. And he, though it was hot and humid, at sight of them grew cold. To the lady he raised his hat, and passing into the building before which this disparate group was assembled, had, himself, shot like a rocket five stories high and landed in the office of the Hon. John Metuchen, appointed by the court referee in the case of Nevius versus Nevius.
There was O’Donnell, and there, talking to him, was a white-haired gentleman with a patrician bearing to whom the intruder was introduced.
“Mr. Metuchen, permit me, this is my client, Mr. Nevius.”
“Your most obedient servant, sir,” murmured that courtly old man. Thereat lawyer and client passed into an inner room.
Nevius dropped in a chair. “They’re below,” he mumbled. “But what has she come for? She can’t testify.”
“To the fact of the marriage, she must, and that there has been no previous application. But that done, presumably she will go.”
“I did not expect—”
The sentence was never finished. Mrs. Carol had entered, and at sight of her the defendant grew mute. But he rose from his seat, reseating himself only when that ponderous person who followed had found her a chair. Immediately, Mr. Metuchen appeared. Then a man with paper and pencils, then two females, escorted by Mr. Snaith.
The room was large, high-ceiled, yet to Nevius it seemed very small. O’Donnell and he were at the end of a long table, at the other end of which Mr. Metuchen sat down. On the inner side was the stenographer. And beyond, at the window, the others had taken seat, all, in fact, save the ponderous person, who seemed inclined to stand and domineer.
He was saying something, but what? Nevius neither knew nor cared; he was watching his wife who presently, with that air and manner he loved so well, advanced a little and began to tell about one or two things which no one questioned. Then the business of the hearing seemed about to begin.
“Just bring your chair a little nearer, Becky.”
Becky? Who was Becky? But as one of the females tilted her seat, Nevius recognized the Rebecca of old. But to what was she to testify?
“Now Becky,” twanged the ponderous person, “what is your name? Rebecca Hawes? Very good. And how old are you, Becky? Very good. Have you ever seen this lady before? Oho! you’ve lived with her, have you? In what capacity? As waitress, eh? And have you ever seen that gentleman? Aha! He is Mr. Nevius, is he? Now Becky, what were your duties as waitress? To wait at table? To serve at meals? Very good, very good. And what else? You answered the door, did you? Aha! You answered the door! Now, Becky, in answering the door, in waiting on the table, did you ever see anyone by the name of Janet Adulam? Oh, you have, have you? Often? Very often, eh? Very good, Becky, very good. Ever heard Mrs. Nevius say anything about her?”
“Ject,” snapped O’Donnell.
“Well, Counsellor,” the ponderous man with great affability retorted, “we won’t quarrel over a little thing like that; I’ll get at it in another way.”
“Now, Becky,” he continued, “Mrs. Nevius, so far as you could see, treated this Adulam girl like a friend, didn’t she—”
Nevius raised a hand.
“I submit, your Honor, that the attorney should not be permitted to refer to this young gentlewoman in the manner which he has done.”
The referee looked up.
“I think, Mr. Tooth, that Mr. Nevius is perhaps right—”
“Oh! oh!” the man protested, “that’s only my way.”
“The way of a cad,” muttered Nevius.
But the attorney, accustomed since boyhood to being so described, caught up the thread unruffled.
“Now, Becky, am I to understand that you regarded this Miss Adulam as a friend of Mrs. Nevius? I am, am I? And why am I? Because she was always coming there, eh? Well, coming where? Oho! to the Nevius house! I see, I see. But you say she was always coming there. You don’t mean that she liked it so much that she used to come when Mrs. Nevius wasn’t at home? Oho, you do, do you? Well, now, Becky, do you remember any particular occasion that she came when Mrs. Nevius was not at home? Lots of them? Why, what could she do there in Mrs. Nevius’ absence? Be kissed by Mr. Nevius! Do you mean to say that you saw Mr. Nevius kissing her? What, you have seen them in each other’s arms! You saw them? you positively swear that you saw them? Very good, Becky, very good. Now, what else did they do? Ate and drank, did they? Well, while they were eating and drinking what did they talk about? You don’t
