Part 19 (2/2)
”You are sure,” I said, after thinking a while, ”that this Maria is a good Spirit? There are all sorts going about, I'm told. You're sure this isn't the spirit of some deceased lunatic, playing the fool with you?”
”I've thought of that,” he admitted. ”Of course that might be so. If nothing happens soon I shall almost begin to suspect it.”
”Well, I should certainly make some inquiries into its character before I trusted it any further,” I answered, and left him.
About a month later I ran against him outside the Law Courts.
”It was all right about Maria; something did happen in Edinburgh while I was there. That very morning I met you one of my oldest clients died quite suddenly at his house at Queensferry, only a few miles outside the city.”
”I'm glad of that,” I answered, ”I mean, of course, for Maria's sake. It was lucky you went then.”
”Well, not altogether,” he replied, ”at least, not in a worldly sense. He left his affairs in a very complicated state, and his eldest son went straight up to London to consult me about them, and, not finding me there, and time being important, went to Kebble. I was rather disappointed when I got back and heard about it.”
”Umph!” I said; ”she's not a smart spirit, anyway.”
”No,” he answered, ”perhaps not. But, you see, something did really happen.”
After that his affection for ”Maria” increased tenfold, while her attachment to himself became a burden to his friends. She grew too big for her table, and, dispensing with all mechanical intermediaries, talked to him direct. She followed him everywhere. Mary's lamb couldn't have been a bigger nuisance. She would even go with him into the bedroom, and carry on long conversations with him in the middle of the night. His wife objected; she said it seemed hardly decent, but there was no keeping her out.
She turned up with him at picnics and Christmas parties. n.o.body heard her speak to him, but it seemed necessary for him to reply to her aloud, and to see him suddenly get up from his chair and slip away to talk earnestly to nothing in a corner disturbed the festivities.
”I should really be glad,” he once confessed to me, ”to get a little time to myself. She means kindly, but it _is_ a strain. And then the others don't like it. It makes them nervous. I can see it does.”
One evening she caused quite a scene at the club. Whibley had been playing whist, with the Major for a partner. At the end of the game the Major, leaning across the table toward him, asked, in a tone of deadly calm, ”May I inquire, sir, whether there was any earthly reason” (he emphasised ”earthly”) ”for your following my lead of spades with your only trump?”
”I--I--am very sorry, Major,” replied Whibley apologetically.
”I--I--somehow felt I--I ought to play that queen.”
”Entirely your own inspiration, or suggested?” persisted the Major, who had, of course, heard of ”Maria.”
Whibley admitted the play had been suggested to him. The Major rose from the table.
”Then, sir,” said he, with concentrated indignation, ”I decline to continue this game. A human fool I can tolerate for a partner, but if I am to be hampered by a d.a.m.ned spirit--”
”You've no right to say that,” cried Whibley hotly.
”I apologise,” returned the Major coldly; ”we will say a blessed spirit.
I decline to play whist with spirits of any kind; and I advise you, sir, if you intend giving many exhibitions with the lady, first to teach her the rudiments of the game.”
Saying which the Major put on his hat and left the club, and I made Whibley drink a stiff gla.s.s of brandy and water, and sent him and ”Maria”
home in a cab.
Whibley got rid of ”Maria” at last. It cost him in round figures about eight thousand pounds, but his family said it was worth it.
A Spanish Count hired a furnished house a few doors from Whibley's, and one evening he was introduced to Whibley, and came home and had a chat with him. Whibley told him about ”Maria,” and the Count quite fell in love with her. He said that if only he had had such a spirit to help and advise him, it might have altered his whole life.
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