Sketches in Lavender, Blue and Green [53]
some inquiries into its character before I trusted it any further," I answered, and left him.
About a month later I ran against him outside the Law Courts.
"It was all right about Maria; something did happen in Edinburgh while I was there. That very morning I met you one of my oldest clients died quite suddenly at his house at Queensferry, only a few miles outside the city."
"I'm glad of that," I answered, "I mean, of course, for Maria's sake. It was lucky you went then."
"Well, not altogether," he replied, "at least, not in a worldly sense. He left his affairs in a very complicated state, and his eldest son went straight up to London to consult me about them, and, not finding me there, and time being important, went to Kebble. I was rather disappointed when I got back and heard about it."
"Umph!" I said; "she's not a smart spirit, anyway."
"No," he answered, "perhaps not. But, you see, something did really happen."
After that his affection for "Maria" increased tenfold, while her attachment to himself became a burden to his friends. She grew too big for her table, and, dispensing with all mechanical intermediaries, talked to him direct. She followed him everywhere. Mary's lamb couldn't have been a bigger nuisance. She would even go with him into the bedroom, and carry on long conversations with him in the middle of the night. His wife objected; she said it seemed hardly decent, but there was no keeping her out.
She turned up with him at picnics and Christmas parties. Nobody heard her speak to him, but it seemed necessary for him to reply to her aloud, and to see him suddenly get up from his chair and slip away to talk earnestly to nothing in a corner disturbed the festivities.
"I should really be glad," he once confessed to me, "to get a little time to myself. She means kindly, but it IS a strain. And then the others don't like it. It makes them nervous. I can see it does."
One evening she caused quite a scene at the club. Whibley had been playing whist, with the Major for a partner. At the end of the game the Major, leaning across the table toward him, asked, in a tone of deadly calm, "May I inquire, sir, whether there was any earthly reason" (he emphasised "earthly") "for your following my lead of spades with your only trump?"
"I--I--am very sorry, Major," replied Whibley apologetically. "I-- I--somehow felt I--I ought to play that queen."
"Entirely your own inspiration, or suggested?" persisted the Major, who had, of course, heard of "Maria."
Whibley admitted the play had been suggested to him. The Major rose from the table.
"Then, sir," said he, with concentrated indignation, "I decline to continue this game. A human fool I can tolerate for a partner, but if I am to be hampered by a damned spirit--"
"You've no right to say that," cried Whibley hotly.
"I apologise," returned the Major coldly; "we will say a blessed spirit. I decline to play whist with spirits of any kind; and I advise you, sir, if you intend giving many exhibitions with the lady, first to teach her the rudiments of the game."
Saying which the Major put on his hat and left the club, and I made Whibley drink a stiff glass of brandy and water, and sent him and "Maria" home in a cab.
Whibley got rid of "Maria" at last. It cost him in round figures about eight thousand pounds, but his family said it was worth it.
A Spanish Count hired a furnished house a few doors from Whibley's, and one evening he was introduced to Whibley, and came home and had a chat with him. Whibley told him about "Maria," and the Count quite fell in love with her. He said that if only he had had such a spirit to help and advise him, it might have altered his whole life.
He was the first man who had ever said a kind word about the spirit, and Whibley loved him for it. The Count seemed as though he could never see enough of Whibley after that evening, and the three of them--Whibley, the Count, and "Maria"--would sit up half the night talking together.
The precise particulars I never heard. Whibley
About a month later I ran against him outside the Law Courts.
"It was all right about Maria; something did happen in Edinburgh while I was there. That very morning I met you one of my oldest clients died quite suddenly at his house at Queensferry, only a few miles outside the city."
"I'm glad of that," I answered, "I mean, of course, for Maria's sake. It was lucky you went then."
"Well, not altogether," he replied, "at least, not in a worldly sense. He left his affairs in a very complicated state, and his eldest son went straight up to London to consult me about them, and, not finding me there, and time being important, went to Kebble. I was rather disappointed when I got back and heard about it."
"Umph!" I said; "she's not a smart spirit, anyway."
"No," he answered, "perhaps not. But, you see, something did really happen."
After that his affection for "Maria" increased tenfold, while her attachment to himself became a burden to his friends. She grew too big for her table, and, dispensing with all mechanical intermediaries, talked to him direct. She followed him everywhere. Mary's lamb couldn't have been a bigger nuisance. She would even go with him into the bedroom, and carry on long conversations with him in the middle of the night. His wife objected; she said it seemed hardly decent, but there was no keeping her out.
She turned up with him at picnics and Christmas parties. Nobody heard her speak to him, but it seemed necessary for him to reply to her aloud, and to see him suddenly get up from his chair and slip away to talk earnestly to nothing in a corner disturbed the festivities.
"I should really be glad," he once confessed to me, "to get a little time to myself. She means kindly, but it IS a strain. And then the others don't like it. It makes them nervous. I can see it does."
One evening she caused quite a scene at the club. Whibley had been playing whist, with the Major for a partner. At the end of the game the Major, leaning across the table toward him, asked, in a tone of deadly calm, "May I inquire, sir, whether there was any earthly reason" (he emphasised "earthly") "for your following my lead of spades with your only trump?"
"I--I--am very sorry, Major," replied Whibley apologetically. "I-- I--somehow felt I--I ought to play that queen."
"Entirely your own inspiration, or suggested?" persisted the Major, who had, of course, heard of "Maria."
Whibley admitted the play had been suggested to him. The Major rose from the table.
"Then, sir," said he, with concentrated indignation, "I decline to continue this game. A human fool I can tolerate for a partner, but if I am to be hampered by a damned spirit--"
"You've no right to say that," cried Whibley hotly.
"I apologise," returned the Major coldly; "we will say a blessed spirit. I decline to play whist with spirits of any kind; and I advise you, sir, if you intend giving many exhibitions with the lady, first to teach her the rudiments of the game."
Saying which the Major put on his hat and left the club, and I made Whibley drink a stiff glass of brandy and water, and sent him and "Maria" home in a cab.
Whibley got rid of "Maria" at last. It cost him in round figures about eight thousand pounds, but his family said it was worth it.
A Spanish Count hired a furnished house a few doors from Whibley's, and one evening he was introduced to Whibley, and came home and had a chat with him. Whibley told him about "Maria," and the Count quite fell in love with her. He said that if only he had had such a spirit to help and advise him, it might have altered his whole life.
He was the first man who had ever said a kind word about the spirit, and Whibley loved him for it. The Count seemed as though he could never see enough of Whibley after that evening, and the three of them--Whibley, the Count, and "Maria"--would sit up half the night talking together.
The precise particulars I never heard. Whibley