getting her information.

Mr. Mool waited, and waited in vain. He reminded his client of what she
had just said.

"You mentioned certain circumstances. May I know what they are?" he
asked.

Mrs. Gallilee rose, before she replied.

"Your time is valuable, and my time is valuable," she said. "We shall
not convince each other by prolonging our conversation. I came here, Mr.
Mool, to ask you a question about the law. Permit me to remind you that
I have not had my answer yet. My own impression is that the girl now
in my house, not being my brother's child, has no claim on my brother's
property? Tell me in two words, if you please--am I right or wrong?"

"I can do it in one word, Mrs. Gallilee. Wrong."

"What!"

Mr. Mool entered on the necessary explanation, triumphing in the reply
that he had just made. "It's the smartest thing," he thought, "I ever
said in my life."

"While husbands and wives live together," he continued, "the Law holds
that all children, born in wedlock, are the husband's children. Even if
Miss Carmina's mother had not been as good and innocent a woman as ever
drew the breath of life--"

"That will do, Mr. Mool. You really mean to say that this girl's
interest in my brother's Will--"

"Remains quite unaffected, ma'am, by all that you have told me."

"And I am still obliged to keep her under my care?"

"Or," Mr. Mool answered, "to resign the office of guardian, in favour of
Lady Northlake--appointed to act, in your place."

"I won't trouble you any further, sir. Good-evening!"

She turned to leave the office. Mr. Mool actually tried to stop her.

"One word more, Mrs. Galilee."

"No; we have said enough already."

Mr. Mool's audacity arrived at its climax. He put his hand on the lock
of the office door, and held it shut.

"The young lady, Mrs. Gallilee! I am sure you will never breathe a word
of this to the pretty gentle, young lady? Even if it was true; and, as
God is my witness, I am sure it's false--"

"Good-evening, Mr. Mool!"

He opened the door, and let her go; her looks and tones told him that
remonstrance was worse than useless. From year's end to year's end,
this modest and amiable man had never been heard to swear. He swore now.
"Damn Doctor Benjulia!" he burst out, in the solitude of his office. His
dinner was waiting for him at home. Instead of putting on his hat, he
went back to his writing-table. His thoughts projected themselves into
the future--and discovered possibi