of himself. After all, is it too much to have suggested that he was a
human anomaly on the roll of attorneys?

CHAPTER VIII.

Mrs. Gallilee made her appearance in the library--and Mr. Mool's pulse
accelerated its beat. Mrs. Gallilee's son followed her into the
room--and Mr. Mool's pulse steadied itself again. By special
arrangement with the lawyer, Ovid had been always kept in ignorance of
his mother's affairs. No matter how angry she might be in the course of
the next few minutes, she could hardly express her indignation in the
presence of her son.

Joyous anticipation has the happiest effect on female beauty. Mrs.
Gallilee looked remarkably well, that day. Having rather a round and
full face, she wore her hair (coloured from youthful nature) in a
fringe across her forehead, balanced on either side by clusters of
charming little curls. Her mourning for Robert was worthy of its
Parisian origin; it showed to perfect advantage the bloom of her
complexion and the whiteness of her neck--also worthy of their Parisian
origin. She looked like a portrait of the period of Charles the Second,
endowed with life.

"And how do you do, Mr. Mool? Have you been looking at my ferns?"

The ferns were grouped at the entrance, leading from the library to the
conservatory. They had certainly not escaped the notice of the lawyer,
who possessed a hot-house of his own, and who was an enthusiast in
botany. It now occurred to him--if he innocently provoked embarrassing
results--that ferns might be turned to useful and harmless account as a