Of course it would be hypocrisy again, the lips would give his heart the lie; but when the heart rises in rebellion against the intelligence it must be suppressed. Unfortunately, however, though a small member, it is very strong.
They reached London at last, and as had been arranged, Anne, the French /bonne/, met them at the station to take Effie home. Geoffrey noticed that she looked smarter and less to his taste than ever.
However, she embraced Effie with an enthusiasm which the child scarcely responded to, and at the same time carried on an ocular flirtation with a ticket collector. Although early in the year for yellow fogs, London was plunged in a dense gloom. It had been misty that morning at Bryngelly, and become more and more so as the day advanced; but, though it was not yet four o'clock, London was dark as night. Luckily, however, it is not far from Paddington to the flat near the Edgware Road, where Geoffrey lived, so having personally instructed the cabman, he left Anne to convoy Effie and the luggage, and went on to the Temple by Underground Railway with an easy mind.
Shortly after Geoffrey reached his chambers in Pump Court the solicitor arrived as had been arranged, not his uncle--who was, he learned, very unwell--but a partner. To his delight he then found that Beatrice's ghost theory was perfectly accurate; the boy with the missing toe-joint had been discovered who saw the whole horrible tragedy through a crack in the blind; moreover the truth had been wrung from him and he would be produced at the trial--indeed a proof of his evidence was already forthcoming. Also some specimens of the ex-lawyer's clerk's handwriting had been obtained, and were declared by two experts to be identical with the writing on the will. One thing, however, disturbed him: neither the Attorney-General nor Mr.
Candleton was yet in town, so no conference was possible that evening.
However, both were expected that night--the Attorney-General from Devonshire and Mr. Candleton from the Continent; so the case being first on the list, it was arranged that the conference should take place at ten o'clock on the following morning.
On arriving home Geoffrey was informed that Lady Honoria was dressing, and had left a message saying he must be quick and do likewise as a gentleman was coming to dinner. Accordingly he went to his own room--which was at the other end of the flat--and put on his dress clothes.
Before going to the dining-room, however, he said good-night to Effie --who was in bed, but not asleep--and asked her what time she had reached home.
"At twenty minutes past five, daddy," Effie said promptly.
"Twenty minutes past five! Why, you don't mean to say that you were an hour coming that little way! Did you get blocked in the fog?""No, daddy, but----"
"But what, dear?"
"Anne did tell me not to say!"
"But I tell you to say, dear--never mind Anne!""Anne stopped and talked to the ticket-man for a long, long time.""Oh, did she?" he said.
At that moment the parlourmaid came to say that Lady Honoria and the "gentleman" were waiting for dinner. Geoffrey asked her casually what time Miss Effie had reached home.
"About half-past five, sir. Anne said the cab was blocked in the fog.""Very well. Tell her ladyship that I shall be down in a minute.""Daddy," said the child, "I haven't said my prayers. Mother did not come, and Anne said it was all nonsense about prayers. Auntie did always hear me my prayers.""Yes, dear, and so will I. There, kneel upon my lap and say them."In the middle of the prayers--which Effie did not remember as well as she might have done--the parlourmaid arrived again.
"Please, sir, her ladyship----"
"Tell her ladyship I am coming, and that if she is in a hurry she can go to dinner! Go on, love."Then he kissed her and put her to bed again.
"Daddy," said Effie, as he was going, "shall I see auntie Beatrice any more?""I hope so, dear."
"And shall you see her any more? You want to see her, don't you, daddy? She did love you very much!"Geoffrey could bear it no longer. The truth is always sharper when it comes from the mouth of babes and sucklings. With a hurried good-night he fled.
In the little drawing-room he found Lady Honoria, very well dressed, and also her friend, whose name was Mr. Dunstan. Geoffrey knew him at once for an exceedingly wealthy man of small birth, and less breeding, but a burning and a shining light in the Garsington set. Mr. Dunstan was anxious to raise himself in society, and he thought that notwithstanding her poverty, Lady Honoria might be useful to him in this respect. Hence his presence there to-night.
"How do you do, Geoffrey?" said his wife, advancing to greet him with a kiss of peace. "You look very well. But what an immense time you have been dressing. Poor Mr. Dunstan is starving. Let me see. You know Mr. Dunstan, I think. Dinner, Mary."Geoffrey apologised for being late, and shook hands politely with Mr.
Dunstan--Saint Dunstan he was generally called on account of his rather clerical appearance and in sarcastic allusion to his somewhat shady reputation. Then they went in to dinner.
"Sorry there is no lady for you, Geoffrey; but you must have had plenty of ladies' society lately. By the way, how is Miss--Miss Granger? Would you believe it, Mr. Dunstan? that shocking husband of mine has been passing the last month in the company of one of the loveliest girls I ever saw, who knows Latin and law and everything else under the sun. She began by saving his life, they were upset together out of a canoe, you know. Isn't it romantic?"Saint Dunstan made some appropriate--or, rather inappropriate--remark to the effect that he hoped Mr. Bingham had made the most of such unrivalled opportunities, adding, with a deep sigh, that no lovely young lady had ever saved his life that he might live for her, &c., &c.
Here Geoffrey broke in without much ceremony. To him it seemed a desecration to listen while this person was ****** his feeble jokes about Beatrice.
