s, however, was not
somnolent, even when he said: 'You know, I am never the lawyer out of my
office. Man of the world to men of the world; and I have not lost by
it. I am Mrs. Barman Radnor's legal adviser: you are Mr. Victor Radnor's
friend. They are, as we see them, not on the best of terms. I would
rather--at its lowest, as a matter of business--be known for having
helped them to some kind of footing than send in a round bill to my
client--or another. I gain more in the end. Frankly, I mean to prove,
that it's a lawyer's interest to be human.'

'Because, now, see!' said Fenellan, 'here's the case. Miss Natalia
Dreighton, of a good Yorkshire family--a large one, reads an
advertisement for the post of companion to a lady, and answers it, and
engages herself, previous to the appearance of the young husband. Miss
Dreighton is one of the finest young women alive. She has a glorious
contralto voice. Victor and she are encouraged by Mrs. Barman to sing
duets together. Well?

Why, Euclid would have theorem'd it out for you at a glance at the trio.
You have only to look on them, you chatter out your three Acts of a
Drama without a stop. If Mrs. Barman cares to practise charity, she has
only to hold in her Fury-forked tongue, or her Jarniman I think 's the
name.'

Carting shrugged.

'Let her keep from striking, if she's Christian,' pursued Fenetlan,
'and if kind let her resume the name of her first lord, who did a better
thing for himself than for her, when he shook off his bars of bullion,
to rise the lighter, and left a wretched female soul below, with the
devil's own testimony to her attractions--thousands in the Funds, houses
in the City. She threw the young couple together. And my friend Victor
Radnor is of a particularly inflammable nature. Imagine one of us in
such a situation, Mr. Carting!'

'Trying!' said the lawyer.

'The dear fellow was as nigh death as a man can be and know the
sweetness of a woman's call to him to live. And here's London's garden
of pines, bananas, oranges; all the droppings of the Hesperides here! We
don't reflect on it, Mr. Carling.'

'Not enough, not enough.'

'I feel such a spout of platitudes that I could out With a Leading
Article on a sheet of paper on your back while you're bending over the
baskets. I seem to have got circularly round again to Eden when I enter
a garden. Only, here we have to pay for the fruits we pluck. Well, and
just the same there; and no end to the payment e