to secure the services of the Attorney-General? It was at this point that my Flora broke in on my half-life, and drove me to my shower-bath in a February morning, and the stern realities of human existence. I felt that it was better to yield implicit obedience to the still small voice of my admirable consort, or it might be that Sir Cresswell would have a word to say to me, and be indisposed to admit as a plea of confession and avoidance my story about the oysters,—which was, however, I protest, true to the letter.
At a few minutes before nine o’clock I reached the offices in Great George Street, and even at this early hour found the Divorce World wide awake. A number of clerks were copying out letters and filling up forms in a lower room—what forms! and what letters!—and I was informed by one of these young gentlemen that the two partners were at breakfast in Mr. Lamb’s private room, but L. had left word that on my arrival I was to be shown up-stairs.
Mr. Lamb introduced me at once to the sterner member of the firm. Mr. Rackem was a tall man with high cheek bones, and a double eye-glass. His trousers were made of some gray mixture, and short for him. He wore high-lows, and had a cast in his eye. He was just the sort of man you would expect to find presiding over the Kentish Fire at an Orange meeting in the famous county of Derry. There was a look of “No Surrender” about him, which suggested very forcibly the idea that you would rather have that gentleman for you than against you, if any little ruffle had occurred in the placid lake of your domestic existence. My friend Lamb was the very opposite of all this. He had, I think, gathered flesh since we had last met; and I was not quite satisfied at first with a look about the corner of his eye, which seemed to me to be somewhat indicative of cunning; but then, of course, a man’s features do take a colour from his usual pursuits; and whom I considered the class of clients with which poor Lamb had to deal, I could not but admit that he had great need of caution and circumspection. Mr. Lamb was making a light breakfast off chocolate and Lady’s Fingers: Mr. Rackem was devouring slices of cold boiled beef with an appetite worthy of a coalheaver.
“I shall be happy, sir,” he said, in a deep hollow voice, after he had satisfied the cravings of nature, “to give you all the information in my power on the delicate subject which you are now investigating. The spread of frivolity and immorality amongst Englishwomen of the present day is awful.”
“Amongst the men, you mean,” broke in Lamb. “Never have I known such a crop of broken hearts—such a series of outrages upon the delicate susceptibilities of female nature as at present.”
“No, sir,—amongst the women. Oh! for the good old days when the robust acorn-fed help-mates—then help-mates indeed—of our Saxon forefathers, after days of severe toil, laid down their robust limbs by the sides of their loving masters, and were worthy of their confidence, and true to their own lofty calling. When I see a modern English lady of fashion mincing into her brougham—when I reflect upon those diminutive bonnets, and those exaggerated crinolines, I give you my assurance, sir, as an honest man, knowing what I do know”—here Mr. Rackem brought down his clenched fist with a tremendous thwack upon the table—“I tremble—yes, sir, I tremble.”
“Pooh, pooh, Rackem, it is the business of women to look pretty; that’s their first duty in life, and what do you say to the clubs and the Derby days?”
“There is a Satire of Juvenal, sir,—" said Rackem.
Lamb answered in song with the rich mellow voice which I remembered so well:—
“Your Polly has never been false she declares
Since the last time we parted at Wapping Old Stairs.”
At this moment the door was thrown open, and a clerk announced:—
“Mrs. Barber.”
The lady was good enough to recognise me as having been present on the previous day at Madame Lareine’s. As she entered the room in the I costume of the Divorcée, she turned her candid blue eyes in a playful, girlish way upon Mr. Lamb, and said:—
“Will this do, Mr. Lamb?”
“No, madam, it will not do. I am very confident that Madame Lareine never sent you that veil; and I tell you frankly, the crinoline must be smaller; but we need not dwell upon this point just now, for Jobson v. Jobson and Boyce will occupy the whole day, and your most interesting case cannot possibly come on for hearing until to-morrow. We have plenty of business before us, however. You may not be aware of the fact, Mrs. Barber, but the most important part of these inquiries takes place in the office of the solicitor. It is not always right to tell Sir Cresswell everything. My friend, Dr. Dodge, has been good enough, for once, to sink the question of professional etiquette, and will be here presently; but meanwhile we can handle one of the chief points of the case—the incident of the hair at Brussels. I want Mr. Rackem’s opinion as to the probable line of defence which will be taken on the other side.”
Mrs. Barber settled her drapery in such a way as to display a very elegant little hand, perfectly gloved, and looking at us all, in a bashful manner, said:—
“It was when we were stopping at Brussels, you mean, Mr. Lamb. Oh! I am sure I shall never be able to tell the Court about that. Oh! no—never—never—but it was so cruel—so very, very cruel of Mr. Barber, for I had just been attending to him that morning;—he was rather poorly, and I had quite drenched my pocket-handkerchief with eau-de-Cologne, for his poor head was aching so.”
“Headache, eh?” said Lamb. “What was amiss?”
“Oh! dear Mr. Lamb, you must not be hard upon poor Augustus—but he had been dining out the night before—if I must tell the truth—and hadn’t come home till three in the morning. I had sat up waiting for him all night by dear baby’s little cradle, thinking of other days: but of course, Mr. Lamb, you won’t let anything be said about