The Complete Novels of Robert Louis Stevenson - All 13 Novels in One Edition. Robert Louis Stevenson

him through her glasses. ‘I have always regarded your Highness as a perfect man; and in your altered circumstances, of which I have already heard with deep regret, I will beg you to consider my respect increased instead of lessened.’

      ‘I have found it so,’ returned the Prince, ‘with every class of my acquaintance. But, madam, I pray you to be seated. My business is of a delicate order, and regards your daughter.’

      ‘In that case,’ said Mrs. Luxmore, ‘you may save yourself the trouble of speaking, for I have fully made up my mind to have nothing to do with her. I will not hear one word in her defence; but as I value nothing so particularly as the virtue of justice, I think it my duty to explain to you the grounds of my complaint. She deserted me, her natural protector; for years, she has consorted with the most disreputable persons; and to fill the cup of her offence, she has recently married. I refuse to see her, or the being to whom she has linked herself. One hundred and twenty pounds a year, I have always offered her: I offer it again. It is what I had myself when I was her age.’

       Very well, madam,’ said the Prince; ‘and be that so! But to touch upon another matter: what was the income of the Reverend Bernard Fanshawe?’

      ‘My father?’ asked the spirited old lady. ‘I believe he had seven hundred pounds in the year.’

      ‘You were one, I think, of several?’ pursued the Prince.

      ‘Of four,’ was the reply. ‘We were four daughters; and painful as the admission is to make, a more detestable family could scarce be found in England.’

      ‘Dear me!’ said the Prince. ‘And you, madam, have an income of eight thousand?’

      ‘Not more than five,’ returned the old lady; ‘but where on earth are you conducting me?’

      ‘To an allowance of one thousand pounds a year,’ replied Florizel, smiling. ‘For I must not suffer you to take your father for a rule. He was poor, you are rich. He had many calls upon his poverty: there are none upon your wealth. And indeed, madam, if you will let me touch this matter with a needle, there is but one point in common to your two positions: that each had a daughter more remarkable for liveliness than duty.’

      ‘I have been entrapped into this house,’ said the old lady, getting to her feet. ‘But it shall not avail. Not all the tobacconists in Europe . . .’

      ‘Ah, madam,’ interrupted Florizel, ‘before what is referred to as my fall, you had not used such language! And since you so much object to the simple industry by which I live, let me give you a friendly hint. If you will not consent to support your daughter, I shall be constrained to place that lady behind my counter, where I doubt not she would prove a great attraction; and your son-in-law shall have a livery and run the errands. With such young blood my business might be doubled, and I might be bound in common gratitude to place the name of Luxmore beside that of Godall.’

      ‘Your Highness,’ said the old lady, ‘I have been very rude, and you are very cunning. I suppose the minx is on the premises. Produce her.’

      ‘Let us rather observe them unperceived,’ said the Prince; and so saying he rose and quietly drew back the curtain.

      Mrs. Desborough sat with her back to them on a chair; Somerset and Harry were hanging on her words with extraordinary interest; Challoner, alleging some affair, had long ago withdrawn from the detested neighbourhood of the enchantress.

      ‘At that moment,’ Mrs. Desborough was saying, ‘Mr Gladstone detected the features of his cowardly assailant. A cry rose to his lips: a cry of mingled triumph . . .’

      ‘That is Mr. Somerset!’ interrupted the spirited old lady, in the highest note of her register. ‘Mr. Somerset, what have you done with my house-property?’

      ‘Madam,’ said the Prince, ‘let it be mine to give the explanation; and in the meanwhile, welcome your daughter.’

      ‘Well, Clara, how do you do?’ said Mrs. Luxmore. ‘It appears I am to give you an allowance. So much the better for you. As for Mr. Somerset, I am very ready to have an explanation; for the whole affair, though costly, was eminently humorous. And at any rate,’ she added, nodding to Paul, ‘he is a young gentleman for whom I have a great affection, and his pictures were the funniest I ever saw.’

      ‘I have ordered a collation,’ said the Prince. ‘Mr. Somerset, as these are all your friends, I propose, if you please, that you should join them at table. I will take the shop.’

      The End

       The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde

       Main TOC

      Contents:

      Story of the Door Search for Mr. Hyde Dr. Jekyll Was Quite at Ease The Carew Murder Case Incident of the Letter Remarkable Incident of Dr. Lanyon Incident at the Window The Last Night Dr. Lanyon’s Narrative Henry Jekyll’s Full Statement of the Case

      Story of the Door

       Table of Contents

      Mr. Utterson the lawyer was a man of a rugged countenance, that was never lighted by a smile; cold, scanty and embarrassed in discourse; backward in sentiment; lean, long, dusty, dreary, and yet somehow lovable. At friendly meetings, and when the wine was to his taste, something eminently human beaconed from his eye; something indeed which never found its way into his talk, but which spoke not only in these silent symbols of the after-dinner face, but more often and loudly in the acts of his life. He was austere with himself; drank gin when he was alone, to mortify a taste for vintages; and though he enjoyed the theatre, had not crossed the doors of one for twenty years. But he had an approved tolerance for others; sometimes wondering, almost with envy, at the high pressure of spirits involved in their misdeeds; and in any extremity inclined to help rather than to reprove.

      “I incline to Cain’s heresy,” he used to say. “I let my brother go to the devil in his quaintly own way.” In this character, it was frequently his fortune to be the last reputable acquaintance and the last good influence in the lives of down-going men. And to such as these, so long as they came about his chambers, he never marked a shade of change in his demeanour.

      No doubt the feat was easy to Mr. Utterson; for he was undemonstrative at the best, and even his friendship seemed to be founded in a similar catholicity of good-nature. It is the mark of a modest man to accept his friendly circle ready-made from the hands of opportunity; and that was the lawyer’s way. His friends were those of his own blood or those whom he had known the longest; his affections, like ivy, were the growth of time, they implied no aptness in the object. Hence, no doubt, the bond that united him to Mr. Richard Enfield, his distant kinsman, the well-known man about town. It was a nut to crack for many, what these two could see in each other, or what subject they could find in common. It was reported by those who encountered them in their Sunday walks, that they said nothing, looked singularly dull, and would hail with