Green Tea; Mr. Justice Harbottle | Page 4

but for two or three years perhaps,
he has not gone on with his work, and the book was upon some rather
abstract subject--perhaps theology."
"Well, he was writing a book, as you say; I'm not quite sure what it was
about, but only that it was nothing that I cared for; very likely you are
right, and he certainly did stop--yes."
"And although he only drank a little coffee here to-night, he likes tea, at
least, did like it extravagantly."
"Yes, that's quite true."
"He drank green tea, a good deal, didn't he?" I pursued.
"Well, that's very odd! Green tea was a subject on which we used
almost to quarrel."
"But he has quite given that up," said I.
"So he has."
"And, now, one more fact. His mother or his father, did you know
them?"
"Yes, both; his father is only ten years dead, and their place is near
Dawlbridge. We knew them very well," she answered.
"Well, either his mother or his father--I should rather think his father,
saw a ghost," said I.
"Well, you really are a conjurer, Dr. Hesselius."
"Conjurer or no, haven't I said right?" I answered merrily.

"You certainly have, and it was his father: he was a silent, whimsical
man, and he used to bore my father about his dreams, and at last he told
him a story about a ghost he had seen and talked with, and a very odd
story it was. I remember it particularly, because I was so afraid of him.
This story was long before he died--when I was quite a child--and his
ways were so silent and moping, and he used to drop in sometimes, in
the dusk, when I was alone in the drawing-room, and I used to fancy
there were ghosts about him."
I smiled and nodded.
"And now, having established my character as a conjurer, I think I must
say good-night," said I.
"But how did you find it out?"
"By the planets, of course, as the gipsies do," I answered, and so, gaily
we said good-night.
Next morning I sent the little book he had been inquiring after, and a
note to Mr. Jennings, and on returning late that evening, I found that he
had called at my lodgings, and left his card. He asked whether I was at
home, and asked at what hour he would be most likely to find me.
Does he intend opening his case, and consulting me "professionally," as
they say? I hope so. I have already conceived a theory about him. It is
supported by Lady Mary's answers to my parting questions. I should
like much to ascertain from his own lips. But what can I do consistently
with good breeding to invite a confession? Nothing. I rather think he
meditates one. At all events, my dear Van L., I shan't make myself
difficult of access; I mean to return his visit tomorrow. It will be only
civil in return for his politeness, to ask to see him. Perhaps something
may come of it. Whether much, little, or nothing, my dear Van L., you
shall hear.
CHAPTER III
Dr. Hesselius Picks Up Something in Latin Books

Well, I have called at Blank Street.
On inquiring at the door, the servant told me that Mr. Jennings was
engaged very particularly with a gentleman, a clergyman from Kenlis,
his parish in the country. Intending to reserve my privilege, and to call
again, I merely intimated that I should try another time, and had turned
to go, when the servant begged my pardon, and asked me, looking at
me a little more attentively than well-bred persons of his order usually
do, whether I was Dr. Hesselius; and, on learning that I was, he said,
"Perhaps then, sir, you would allow me to mention it to Mr. Jennings,
for I am sure he wishes to see you."
The servant returned in a moment, with a message from Mr. Jennings,
asking me to go into his study, which was in effect his back
drawing-room, promising to be with me in a very few minutes.
This was really a study--almost a library. The room was lofty, with two
tall slender windows, and rich dark curtains. It was much larger than I
had expected, and stored with books on every side, from the floor to the
ceiling. The upper carpet--for to my tread it felt that there were two or
three--was a Turkey carpet. My steps fell noiselessly. The bookcases
standing out, placed the windows, particularly narrow ones, in deep
recesses. The effect of the room was, although extremely comfortable,
and even luxurious, decidedly gloomy, and aided by the silence, almost
oppressive. Perhaps, however, I ought to have allowed something for
association. My mind had connected peculiar ideas with Mr. Jennings. I
stepped into